Unseen Deductions
by Mrs.InsaneOne
Summary: On the night his parents were murdered, a prophecy was invoked and Harry Potter's Fated Destiny was set in stone. Stone is not unbreakable though and a child's flesh and bones are far more delicate… It only takes a single accident to unravel Life's Tapestry when the stone dictating Harry's Destiny is shattered beyond repair. HP/LL
1. Destiny Derailed

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN1:** _Just a few notes here that you might want to keep in mind as you read the story, starting with the fact that all crossovers I write tend to play fast and loose with canon._

_One; I have placed Dudley as being one year older than Harry – something I have done in a few other stories I have written. The reason for the age difference in this particular story is simply to place Dudley's physical development a slight bit ahead of Harry. _

_Two; the technology referenced – yes, I am fully aware that some of the technology that I will have the characters using did not actually exist within the timeline of the story; I should know, I grew up in the eighties. This story is not set in the real world though; it a work of fiction that is based upon two other works of fiction and I have used creative license to mold Rowling's and Doyle's worlds into a plot world that is mine (because that's the only way I'm going to get a world of my own since I own neither HP or Sherlock in any of his many forms). So if my out of place technology bothers you, don't let the door you hit on the way out. I'm not changing my story. _

_Three; my characters will at times be out of character because I am not their original authors nor am I any of the script writers that worked on any adaptations of the original works. I'm simply an unemployed housewife that enjoys playing with other peoples creations. _

**AN2:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

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><p><strong>Unseen Deductions<br>**Prologue: Destiny Derailed

Our story begins with a young wizard who embraced the darkness within his heart at an early age; using his magic to incite fear in those that had bullied him. The wizard had not yet become a man before he sacrificed his innocence with the vilest of black magics and sundered his soul. He would go on to sacrifice his compassion, his conscience, his reason, and his very humanity, severing his soul four more times, in his quest for immortality and power. He then fashioned himself a new name, gathered as many followers as he could, and began a reign of terror as he sought to take over the magical society into which he had been born.

He called himself Lord Voldemort and his followers became his Death Eaters.

There were scant few that stood up to him and fought against the dark wizard; a mere handful or two of brave witches and wizards that weren't shackled by their fear. Despite their efforts, they were rapidly losing ground to the dark forces as they were being picked off one by one due to the presence of a spy in their midst. Just when it was beginning to look like their efforts would be futile; a single ray of hope was gifted to the light side.

A prophecy had been made.

The prophecy foretold the birth of a child that would be born with the power to vanquish the dark lord; a boy that would be born to those that fought against the dark lord. The wizard to whom the prophecy had been given was the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix (an organization that fought against Voldemort's forces) and he was hesitant to inform the rest of his companions of the prophecy least the suspected spy within the organization hear the words. His caution would be for naught; a known underling of the dark wizard had heard the words to the first half of the prophecy and the young wizard in question was quick to inform his master of the coming threat.

Another year would pass with both sides carefully watching and waiting by order of their leaders (though only a small handful on each side knew exactly why they were waiting). During that time, several witches within the Order of the Phoenix fell pregnant within weeks of one another. However, only three of the expectant couples fit the criteria set out in the prophecy and of those three, only two of them were due within the timeframe given by the prophecy; the fiery Lily Potter and the unflappable Alice Longbottom. All three of the pregnant witches were watched closely by their husbands; all three wizards fearing that their wives would be seen as easy targets by the Death Eaters.

Not long after Alice and Lily each gave birth to a healthy baby boy within hours of one another; the younger of the two boys, one Harry James Potter, became the target of the Dark Lord, though he would actively hunt both of them.

Another year would pass as the young parents of the two boys hid their sons as best they could while they continued to fight against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. Their safe houses were targeted one right after another though, thanks to the spy within the Order of the Phoenix. Eventually, the two couples resolved to hide their small families with obscure magics nearly fifteen months after their sons had been born. The parents of the older child relied upon the ancient wards that protected the husband's ancestral home while the parents of the slightly younger child chose to use misdirection and what was believed to be an infallible spell.

The couple moved into a cottage located in a quiet little village that was owned by the Leader of the Light and the young mother cast the spell that sealed the knowledge of their location into the soul of a young man they considered a close friend while they told the others on their side that another close friend would be their Secret Keeper. The ruse would have worked perfectly, if not for one tiny little detail; the close friend they had trusted to protect their lives was not the trustworthy man they believed him to be.

Within one week of the spell being cast, the traitor and spy within the Order ran to the Dark Lord with the location of the young Potter family. The Dark Lord did not hesitate to act upon the information he'd been given and he quickly made his way to the small home where the couple and their young son were hiding. James Potter, little Harry's father, would fall first to the Dark Lord's wand as he sought to buy his wife and son time to flee. Lily Potter upon discovering that she was unable to escape with her young son, cast several archaic spells that she had been researching in the hopes that those spells would protect her son from the Dark Lord.

Lily would fall just seconds after casting the final spell as she begged for the life of her son.

The Dark Lord would then level his wand at the babe that had been prophesied to defeat him and fire the same curse that had stolen the babe's parents from him. The spell flew straight and true and it looked as if the Dark Lord would end the last hope of the light side. Just when victory was within his grasp, the Dark Lord would be caught off guard when his curse was deflected back at him after striking little Harry's forehead; the protective spells that his mother had cast upon him in combination with her willing sacrifice activating the moment the ancient and potent magics had sensed the threat to the one they had been cast upon.

Unprepared for the backlash of energy from his own spell, the Dark Lord had no time to defend himself from the deadly curse. His broken soul, which he'd ripped and torn decades earlier, was violently and painfully cast out of his body the moment the acid green spellfire washed over him. His soul, unstable as it was from the damage he'd inflicted upon it with black magic, fractured yet again as his body was destroyed and in his ignorance, he sacrificed his sanity as he fled the ruins of the cottage where the young couple had been hiding.

The small fraction of his soul that was left behind, sought out the nearest source of magic in order to survive; the young child that the Dark Lord had just failed to murder.

Little Harry screamed in pain and fear as the soul fragment ripped a jagged gash on the child's forehead where the magic of the failed curse still lingered and burrowed beneath the child's skin like the parasite that it was. The tiny wizard screamed a second time as his magic lashed out at the fragment in order to drive it out but Harry's magic was too young to breach the residue of the curse that had been meant to take his life and the protective spells that had shielded him had been near exhausted when they deflected the curse and were therefore unable to do much to help. So, instead of ejecting the soul fragment, Harry's magic and the lingering ancient magics his mother had called upon and fueled with her death wrapped around it to lock it away from his soul in order to protect him.

The prophecy had been invoked and Harry Potter's Fated Destiny was set in stone.

The aftermath of the events on that fateful Halloween would have long reaching effects. The general wizarding public celebrated what they thought was the Dark Lord's death and hailed young Harry as their savior. The scattered forces of the Dark Lord were hunted down, rounded up, and put on trial for their crimes. Not all of the guilty parties would be imprisoned for their crimes though, as those with significant fortunes bought their freedom with silver-tongued lies and gold. At the same time, not all of those who were imprisoned were guilty of the crimes for which they'd been arrested.

Once such innocent, was the close friend of the newly orphaned wizard's parents who had played the part of the False Keeper; the man being arrested after he'd failed to catch the true traitor. He was also denied a trial and proclaimed guilty by those who had bought the ruse that had been concocted as an extra layer of protection for the Potters. The man didn't care though; he was far too busy blaming himself for the deaths of his best friends because it had been his suggestion to have the traitor hold the Secret.

The child himself, was delivered to his only remaining family; his mother's sister. The moment he had been set upon the porch of his aunt's house, little Harry was consigned to what would have been ten long, lonely years of verbal abuse, rampant physical and emotional neglect, and minor physical assault at the hands of his bitter aunt, prejudiced uncle, and bully of a cousin. At the end of those ten years, Harry would then return to the world from which he'd been cast out of for his own protection.

Stone is not unbreakable though and a child's flesh and bones are far more delicate… a single accident cracked the stone that Harry's Destiny had been written upon and the original prophecy was invalidated as a new prophecy went unheard high in a stone tower within a magical castle four years after the young Child of Prophecy had been orphaned by the man he was Fated to vanquish.

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><p><em>Wednesday, October 31, 1984 05:53 P.M.<br>No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey  
>England<em>

A four year old Harry James Potter diligently cleaned the large, window in the kitchen while standing on an old rickety stool. As he worked, Harry's eyes hungrily peered out into the backyard where his five year old cousin, Dudley Dursley, played with the brand new cricket bat that his (Dudley's) parents had purchased for him just that morning as part of his Halloween Costume. He had just watched his cousin swing the bat as if it were a sword instead of a bat when a stray beam of bright sunlight from the setting sun struck the glass in such a way that it shone right in little Harry's eyes.

Blinded as he was by the glint of sunlight on glass, Harry never saw the wooden bat slip free of his cousin's hand as the older boy executed another reckless swing of his pretend blade.

The not quite three pound bat gracefully arched through the air to crash through the window in a shower of glass. Several shards of glass and the wayward bat struck the unprepared four year old in the face and knocked him backwards off of the stool he was standing on. Harry let out a short, sharp cry when his face exploded in pain as the glass from the broken window sliced through his skin and eyes just before the bat slammed into the bridge of his nose while a large piece of glass jabbed itself straight into the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. His pained cry was cut off abruptly as the back of his head hit the floor just seconds later as blood and a thick, black inky substance streamed down his face.

In that moment, little Harry's world went dark.


	2. Halloween Horrors

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

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><p><span>Chapter One: Halloween Horrors<span>

If one were to drive through the small town of Blackmore, Essex along Nine Ashes Lane towards Blackmore Millennium Park, they would soon pass in front of a small block of houses that looked well lived in with their infrequently trimmed and weed infested lawns, disorganized (but vibrant) flower beds, and scattered belongings left in the driveways and on the lawns until you reached the house at the very end of the block.

Number 113 Nine Ashes Lane was a pale blue house with an immaculate lawn, impeccable flower beds, freshly painted white picket fence, and a pristine walkway and drive. The inside of the house was just as neatly kept; the bare wooden floors polished to perfection, the tasteful throw rugs that covered the floors free of lint, the furniture and knickknacks scattered throughout the house were free of dust and symmetrically arranged, the curtains freshly pressed, and the walls unblemished by even a single smudge of sweat, dirt, or childish doodle in waxy colors.

Living in the house, was a small family of three. The man of the house was a loud, overweight man by the name of Vernon Dursley. His wife was a rail-thin and overly nosy woman named Petunia Dursley (née Evans). And their ten year old son was the spitting image of his father right down to his hefty waistline and loud mouth. Mr. Dursley was the Director of Sales for Grunnings (a company that manufactured drills). Mrs. Dursley was a housewife that spent most of her time spying on her neighbors and gossiping with the other ladies at the local bridge club. Dudley, on the other hand, was an obnoxious spoiled brat that toed a very fine line between being assertive and being a bully.

On the surface, it would appear as if the Dursley family was a rather ordinary family. The truth though, was that their appearance of orderliness was a front, for the Dursley family had a dark secret and their greatest fear was that someone would discover their hidden shame. It was a terrible secret that they had kept five years now; one that they had gone to great lengths to hide. Mr. Dursley had even gone so far as to sell the house that his parents had bequeathed to him when they passed away, the very house he'd grown up in as a child, just to protect this secret.

Their secret had a name and his name was Harry James Potter; Mrs. Dursley's nine year old nephew.

Harry's existence hadn't always been such a big secret and there had been a time when their neighbors had both known of his existence and seen him out and about during the day. That had all changed on one fateful Halloween five years earlier when the child had been severely injured in what most people would call a freak accident; an injury that had not been treated by a medical professional and an injury that had left the small child blind. Now, most people might assume that the Dursleys had left their nephew to suffer in the wake of receiving such a terrible injury out of cruelty on their part.

That couldn't be further from the truth.

The reason why they hadn't taken the child to the hospital upon learning he had been injured was because by the time that Mrs. Dursley had found him (a mere ten minutes after he'd been injured) his injuries had already been healed. You see, little Harry was not an ordinary child; he was a wizard. He had been born with a magical core. And it was his magic that had healed little Harry after he'd been injured; even if his magic had not been able to give him back his sight before his immature magical core had been exhausted and damaged beyond repair due to the extensive damage it had been forced to repair to save the little boy's life.

The very magic that healed him was also the very thing that drove the Dursleys to hide all traces of their nephew.

It wasn't like they could take the child to the doctor for an injury that had already been healed. Who would have believed them if they'd claimed that the injury had happened an hour or so earlier when the only evidence that remained was the child's sightless green eyes? No, they would have been accused of child neglect or child abuse and then they would have been persecuted because of the boy's magic. Magic that Vernon Dursley resented (because of all the problems that had cropped up ever since they'd found Harry on their doorstep), Petunia Dursley coveted (ever since she'd first learned her sister had magic and she didn't), and Dudley Dursley feared (because his parents made it out to be something terrible).

And so the elder Dursleys had packed up their family, left their home, and hid the very existence of their nephew from their new neighbors.

Over the course of the five years they'd lived in their new home, the Dursleys had succeeded; none of their neighbors knew little Harry Potter existed. Even better in their eyes was the fact that all of the negative rumors that had circulated around Little Whinging about their family had not followed them to their new home. They were a model family and the small town they had moved to embraced them with open arms even if a few of the older folks grumbled about how unnaturally clean the Dursleys kept their house and yard. The Dursleys were happy though, their life was now nearly perfect and that was all that mattered to them.

At least, they were happy right up until their next door neighbor's mother was murdered in his home on the morning of October 31, 1989.

They were rightly scandalized and frightened by such a crime taking place right next door to their home; after all, it was only sheer chance that one of them had not been home at the time and there was the ever present fear that they might be the next target. They conveniently forgot that the boy they pretended did not exist had been home alone at the time and gave no thought to what he might have witnessed or even that his life would have been in danger if their house and family had been targeted.

They were also very uncomfortable with the police swarming all over the street hunting for witnesses, suspects, and clues. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley cooperated without hesitation though; for they didn't want anyone looking too closely at them, least someone managed to uncover the presence of their nephew. It helped that all three of them had solid alibis; Mr. Dursley had been at work, Mrs. Dursley had been down at the local ladies club playing bridge, and Dudley had, for once, been in class.

After a several days without any leads, the local constable called in a request to Scotland Yard for backup. The Yard's response was to send Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade to investigate and Inspector Lestrade chose to bring in London's only Consulting Detective; the infamous Sherlock Holmes and his ever faithful assistant, Dr. John Watson. The entire town (and the Dursleys in particular) felt a measure of relief to know that there were would be experts on the case now and had high hopes that the culprit would be found quickly so that they could rest easy at night once more.

Too bad no one had warned the Dursleys that keeping a secret from Sherlock Holmes was impossible.

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><p><em>Tuesday, October 31, 1989 8:21 A.M.<br>No. 113 Nine Ashes Lane, Blackmore, Essex  
>England<em>

Nine year old Harry Potter let out a weary sigh as he heard the downstairs deadbolt shifting into place as Aunt Petunia locked the front door behind her. He loathed being left alone in the house almost as much as he loathed being locked in the closet. He hated the loud creaks and groans the house would make as the house settled on its foundations or when the wind shook the trees and made the branches scrap against the roof and windows outside. But even worse than the directionless noises that occasionally shot through the house without warning, was the absolute silence that filled the house for much of the day when he was alone.

It was bad enough that someone had taken all of the light and color out of his life but when the house was filled with nothing but silence it made the darkness close in around him.

The muffled sound of a car pulling up in front of the house brought forth another explosive sigh from the young boy as he reached up to finger the coarse gauze that covered his sightless eyes. A flurry of barely heard happy greetings, the muted slamming of the car door, and the half heard sound of the car pulling away from the curb heralded his Aunt's departure for the day. Harry moped for a full two minutes before the growing silence became too much for him. Rolling over on his bed, he slid his left hand beneath his mattress and pulled out the inner workings of an old music box that had had its housing stripped away.

He then sat up, diligently wound the key as far as it would go, pulled out the stop that held the gears in check, and placed the little contraption on the shelf beside his bed as the first tinny notes of _Die Moldau_* filled his closet.

A small smile curled Harry's lips upwards as the flowing notes of the short song segment filled his closet and chased away both the silence and his fears. After listening to the song play through half a dozen times, Harry closed his sightless eyes and began to hum along with the tune as he felt that nameless something inside of him rise up to dance with the melody on the air currents that flowed through his closet.

Harry hadn't always known about the nameless something inside of him. He wasn't even sure how long the nameless something had been with him. All he knew was that after he'd woken up in darkness, that unnamed something had been there inside of him.

At first, the unfamiliar feel of the Namelessness rushing through him had frightened him. The endless ebb and flow of _some_thing lurking just beneath his skin had almost frightened him as much as the darkness itself had frightened him. It had taken him weeks to accept that the nameless something was a part of himself and that it wasn't hurting him. Once he accepted that part of himself, the Namelessness soon became something he treasured. The feel of it flowing through his blood assured him that he was still alive. It also kept him warm when it was cold and cool when it was hot.

It wasn't until he heard his aunt play a waltz on her grandmother's old gramophone for the first time since he'd lost his sight on hers and Uncle Vernon's wedding anniversary that he learned the Namelessness could leave his body.

He'd been softly humming along with the music, lost in the memories of when he had once watched his aunt and uncle dance together on their anniversary through the grate on his cupboard under the stairs; back when they'd still lived in Surrey. He had been completely lost in the music and wishing he could still see what his memories showed him when he felt the nameless something inside of him rise up. Of course, Harry had panicked as he'd believed that the Namelessness would leave him all alone again but the moment he'd stopped humming the Namelessness had settled back down where it belonged.

It took him several weeks before he figured out that the Namelessness only rose up to touch the world around him when he was lost in the music. It didn't matter how simple or complex the song, so long as there was even the smallest hint of a melody, the nameless something inside of him would lift away from him to dance in the air around him. Once he realized that the Namelessness would return to him as soon as he let go of the music, Harry no longer panicked and soon began experimenting with different tunes.

That was how he learned that the Namelessness could touch the world and paint pictures for him in his mind.

At first, he couldn't see very much as the Namelessness couldn't travel very far from him before he got too tired and if he tried to push it further, it would cause him to feel a burning pain (as if his blood was boiling); which meant he saw nothing beyond the walls of his room. That was how he'd learned his new room was the lower half of a former linen closet based upon the crude removal of the shelves. Over time, as he sought to see as much of the world as he could from the small prison that he was only allowed to leave twice a day (least the neighbors catch sight of him). By the time the first anniversary of The Darkness (which is how he referred to the loss of his eyesight) arrived, Harry had a solid mental map of everything in the new house that was within twenty feet of his closet.

By the second anniversary of The Darkness, he'd had the entire house mapped out and had discovered how to open the old secret passageway behind the linen closet that led to the attic. It had taken him six months to find the courage to climb up the ladder and that was only after he'd noticed the discarded music box in the corner of the attic one day when the Namelessness had painted the attic in clearer detail. While he could easily memorize any tune or melody, it was far easier to control the nameless something inside of him if he actually heard the music playing. The Dursleys would never allow him to have anything that would draw attention to him though and so he'd only had his imagination and memory as a music source until that day.

The song the broken music box played was even better than any of the music that his relatives played. The short, thirty-six note song flowed smoothly like the Namelessness flowed through him and the pictures the new song painted were the clearest yet. It was as if the song had been made just for him (though he knew that wasn't true). The broken music box opened up a whole new world for Harry at that point as he sent his Namelessness out beyond the walls of the house for the first time to 'see' the world beyond.

That was also the day he learned that the Namelessness could carry sounds to him even as it painted him pictures. His hearing had sharpened since The Darkness had come but very little sound passed through the walls of the house unless it was very loud (such as the honking of a car horn) or the source was on the within twenty feet of the house and even then the sound was muted. With the Namelessness carrying the sounds to him on the wind, he could now hear each sound as clear as a bell; as if he was standing right next to the source. It wasn't long before Harry began devoting every single minute he could painting the world with the Namelessness and pushing that unnamed something inside of him to even greater lengths.

By the fifth anniversary of The Darkness, Harry had gained enough control of the Namelessness that he could watch the town's entire population going about their business. By that time, he had also learned the names and faces of every single person that lived in or regularly visited Blackmore; he knew where they worked, had memorized their daily schedules, had mapped out every inch of their houses, and knew their secrets better than they knew them. Watching them go about their lives second hand through the Namelessness was the only thing that kept him from going insane inside of his closet, his prison.

On that fateful day, as his Namelessness slipped through the cracks of the house and out into the open air, Harry directed the unnamed force to search out his relatives. The first thing he confirmed was that his uncle was no longer within the boundaries of the small town (which was as far as the Namelessness could currently reach); the heavyset man well on his way to Grunnings' London office where he worked. Next he made certain that Dudley was where he was supposed to be; in class and not skiving off like the pudgy boy often did on a test day. Lastly, he checked to make certain that his aunt had arrived at the Ladies' Club where she played bridge with the other housewives and senior citizens that lived in town every Tuesday and Thursday.

The smile on Harry's lips grew larger as the knowledge that he would have a full four hours to watch the world before his Aunt Petunia would be home. Half a heartbeat later, the Namelessness began speeding through the entire town in joyful abandon as he peeked in on his favorite individuals; such as Mr. Hamilton (the baker in the corner café), Miss Wright (the music teacher at the local school yard), and the wild animals that made their home in Blackmore Millennium Park. He was just giggling about the cat that had been dive bombed and chased out of the park by a blue jay when the Namelessness pulled back to the yard around the Dursleys' house unexpectedly.

Someone had stepped onto his relative's lawn where threads of the Namelessness had formed a net over the entire property so that Harry would not be caught off guard by an unexpected visitor or one of his relatives.

He soon found the two intruders and he frowned when he noticed that it was the two strangers that had been hanging about the area for the past three weeks. They had been all over town, going from door to door carrying some sort of religious pamphlets (according to Aunt Petunia – who'd complained about them; the Namelessness hadn't been able to teach Harry how to read, so he couldn't say whether or not his aunt was telling the truth). They had spent most of their time on Nine Ashes Lane; specifically on the stretch of Nine Ashes Lane that ran past the Dursleys' home.

He sent the Namelessness chasing after them as they climbed over the fence and dropped down into the Dursleys' back yard and the nine year old tensed with fear at the mere thought that they might break into the Dursleys' house; knowing that his aunt and uncle would blame him if anything was stolen or if they somehow stumbled upon him locked up inside of his closet.

Harry breathed out an audible sigh of relief when the two strangers hopped the fence into Mr. Roberts's back yard but then he frowned as he wondered why they were creeping around in anyone's backyard. Curious and more than a little worried about what they could be up to, Harry focused all of the Namelessness outside of his body on Mr. Roberts's house and yard as they knocked on Mr. Roberts's back door and were let into the house by a familiar presence. His attention was briefly pulled away from the three people hovering around the back door when an unfamiliar van pulled up outside of Mr. Roberts's house.

He spent a few minutes trying to make out the picture on the side of the van (which looked vaguely bird-like) when his attention was drawn into the house when he caught wind of a short argument between the two men and the woman that Mr. Roberts had hired to clean his house every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. A frown marred Harry's brow as he wondered why she was there on a Tuesday; Mrs. Smyth never cleaned Mr. Roberts's house on Tuesdays. Knots began forming in Harry's stomach the moment he realized that Mrs. Smyth and the two strangers were taking things from Mr. Roberts's house and packing them into a suitcase.

They were _stealing_ from Mr. Roberts.

The knots in Harry's stomach began twisting themselves even tighter as he realized that he was witnessing a crime and that he couldn't even call for help because he was locked in his closet. It was at that moment that old Mrs. Roberts (Mr. Roberts's elderly but still very active mother) pulled up in her fancy old nineteen-sixty-three Aston Martin and Harry felt a wave of relief now that he knew someone else would catch the thieves in the act and report them.

His relief would turn to horror just fifteen minutes later, when one of the two men roughly grabbed Mrs. Roberts before he stabbed her three times with a knife the moment she confronted them. His connection to the Namelessness violently snapped as the shock of witnessing the heinous crime broke his concentration. Harry rolled over as the backlash from the abrupt disconnection with Namelessness and the horror of seeing Mrs. Roberts stabbed to death by the strangers caused him to vomit. Silent sobs and dry heaves wracked Harry's body for the next hour each time he recalled exactly what he had seen that morning.

When Aunt Petunia arrived home just a few minutes before one in the afternoon, he would be scolded and spanked for making a disgusting mess of his closet. He would then be hauled to the shower and ordered to wash himself while Aunt Petunia cleaned up his floor before he was told to dry off and put on the clean change of Dudley's old clothes that she shoved into his hands. His aunt then replaced the bandages that she demanded he wear to hide 'his disgustingly ugly, dead eyes' before he was returned to his closet. Her final parting words were that he'd be grounded for the rest of the week; meaning that his short daily trips out of the closet would be curtailed further.

Harry didn't care though; he was far too traumatized by Mrs. Roberts's death.

He could still hear her startled cry, muffled as it was behind the man's hand, as the stranger stabbed her first in the middle of her back (severing the spinal cord to stop her from struggling) and then in the stomach with the knife before he stabbed her in the heart. And he could still see the rivers of blood rushing towards the floor to pool beneath her body before the image had exploded when the Namelessness snapped back to him.

Nightmares would terrorize the nine year old for the next four days as the only thing that his relatives spoke about was Mrs. Roberts's murder. The local constabulary (all three elderly members of the small force) swarmed the neighborhood during those four days; the three men interviewing all of the neighbors time and time again in the hopes of finding a witness. Harry had attempted, just once, to tell his aunt that he knew who had killed Mrs. Roberts but she'd slapped him in the face and told him that she would not tolerate him making up lies in order to ruin her perfect life.

Fear, guilt, and helplessness tore at Harry as he remained locked in his closet surrounded by The Darkness that he couldn't escape because he feared what he would see should he allow the Namelessness to paint him another picture.

The suffocating Darkness would eventually become too much for the tormented child though and he would hesitantly send the Namelessness out to chase away The Darkness just so that he could breathe again. He didn't allow the unnamed thing inside of him to wander far at first though; he was still far too frightened of what he might see out there. It would only take a couple of hours for the mostly unchanged interior of his relatives' house to ease some of his fears just enough that he felt it was safe to spread the Namelessness outwards once more.

Once he felt a bit surer of himself, a morbid sense curiosity had him send the Namelessness back into Mr. Roberts's house where he would catch his first glimpse of the two of the men that would turn his world upside down.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

* Die Moldau (or The Moldau) was composed by Bedřich Smetana in 1874 as part of Má Vlast (My Country or My Homeland) which was comprised of six symphonic poems. Out of the seven or so music box songs I liked, I chose this one because of the way it flowed and inspired instead of soothed and put to sleep.

* 1963 Aston Martin – think James Bond's personal car (for those who are not car suave).


	3. Disturbing Discovery

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Two: Disturbing Discovery<span>

_Saturday, November 04, 1989 3:13 P.M.  
>No. 113 Nine Ashes Lane, Blackmore, Essex<br>England_

Harry tensed the moment that the Namelessness slipped in through the open front door of Mr. Roberts's house; part of him still terrified at what he might see. He almost withdrew from the house at that point; only for his attention to be snagged by the sight of an unfamiliar trio of men walking through Mr. Roberts's house. They were strangers, to be sure, but they were not _the_ strangers that had been in the house when Mrs. Roberts had been killed. Their presence caught hold of Harry's curiosity and he tentatively urged the Namelessness to paint him a clearer picture of them.

Soon their faces were painted in exquisite detail even as the wind carried the words that the Namelessness caught for him to hear. Awe filled Harry as the tallest of the three men told the other two exactly how Mrs. Roberts died; it was almost as if the man had been there when it had happened but Harry knew he hadn't been. He then frowned when the man got the number of people involved wrong; he hadn't counted Mrs. Smyth. Still, he was right about almost everything else.

He nearly giggled when the trio stepped outside and the tall man made several disparaging remarks about the Dursleys' immaculate lawn. He liked the tall man; it took a special kind of person to see the Dursleys for what they were and this man hadn't even met them yet (at least Harry didn't think he had) and already he knew there was something wrong with them. That thought terrified Harry for a moment; if the Dursleys should find out he was thinking uncharitable thoughts about them, then he'd be in big, big trouble.

Over the course of the next hour, Harry followed the trio exclusively; the nine year far too fascinated by the tall man and the way the man knew things that no one else knew but Harry. That thought made the blind child wonder if the man also had a part of the Namelessness inside of him that helped him to see what everyone else missed. The more he listened, the more he began to believe that he'd found another person just like him. One of the other strangers that joined the group later on even called the man Freak; just like Harry's family called him Freak when they were particularly angry with him. Harry would keep a careful eye on that mean stranger from that point forward as well because of the resemblance he had to the Dursleys.

Several more hours passed and before Harry knew it, night had fallen and the men he'd been watching all afternoon returned to Mr. Roberts's house and prepared to leave. Harry felt sad when he realized that the tall man, who he'd learned was named Sherlock Holmes, would be leaving and that he would probably never come back. He didn't want Mr. Homes to leave. He wanted the man to stay long enough to tell everyone the Dursleys' secrets just like he'd told other people's secrets all day long.

But most of all, he wanted to be found.

Harry was tired of living in darkness on top of being trapped within The Darkness; he longed to feel the sun on his skin once more and feel the grass beneath his feet. More importantly, he wanted to tell Mr. Holmes that he was wrong, that he forgot to count one person. He _needed_ to tell someone, _any_one, what had happened to Mrs. Roberts in the hopes that telling someone would make the nightmares stop.

The Namelessness within Harry responded to his deep seated desire for Mr. Holmes to stay and immediately took hold of the man's blue scarf and pulled it free from the man's neck. Harry was so startled by the incident that he immediately lost his connection to the Namelessness and abruptly gagged on the sickening feeling of the backlash that always hit him when he was cut off so abruptly. He daren't make another mess on the closet floor though; least his aunt have his uncle paddle his behind for making more messes for her to clean up. So he swallowed repeatedly and fought down the feeling as best he could.

By the time his stomach calmed down, Harry was certain that Mr. Holmes had left Blackmore and that his only chance to tell someone (someone who would believe him anyway) about Mrs. Roberts was gone. Silent tears soaked the bandages wrapped round his eyes and made the thin cotton fabric stick to his face. Caught up in his inner turmoil, Harry missed the sound of someone knocking on the door and probably would have missed the fact that someone had come calling at the Dursleys' if not for someone pressing the door buzzer multiple times in rapid succession. It was something that the Namelessness had seen Dudley do often when he was impatient or just wanted to annoy someone.

Tilting his head, Harry listened to sound of voices drifting up the stairs.

"_I'm coming already!_" Aunt Petunia's voice shrilly called as she hurried to the front door; the high pitch of her voice a clear sign that she was irritated with whomever it was that was repeatedly ringing the bell. "_What do you…? Oh, good evening, Detective Inspector Lestrade; I wasn't expecting to see you again. Was there something more that I could help you with?_"

Harry couldn't help but softly snicker over how quickly Aunt Petunia had changed her tune (and her tone) the moment she knew who was on the other side of the door. His breath hitched a moment later as he recalled that the Detective Inspector was one of the two companions that had been with Mr. Holmes all day long. Hope and eagerness rose in his chest as he immediately realized that there was a good chance that Mr. Holmes was still there if the Inspector was still there.

"_Yes, Mrs. Dursley; my companions were hoping they might ask you and your family a few of more questions,_" Detective Lestrade replied politely.

"_Now…? We were just sitting down to supper,_" Aunt Petunia replied in a flustered tone.

"_I apologize for the late intrusion but we're only in town for today and I assure you that it won't take us but a few minutes to ask you our questions before we leave you to go back to your meal,_" the third and final member of the trio disarmingly assured Aunt Petunia. It took Harry a moment to remember that his name was Doctor John Watson.

"_Well, if you must,_" Aunt Petunia grudgingly relented. "_Please come in and have a seat while I go fetch my husband and my son._"

"_There's no need to stand on ceremony, Mrs. Dursley, we've seen plenty of kitchens and dining rooms; you won't offend our sensibilities if you lead us right to your family. It will also save time,_" Mr. Holmes pointed out in a bored tone that said he really didn't want to be there and Harry had to slap his hand over his mouth in order to hold back the giggle that rose to the back of his throat as he just imagined what his aunt would think of his rudeness.

He didn't hear it but he knew Aunt Petunia must have either sniffed in disdain or let out a huff of exasperation (a couple of reactions that Harry often garnered from the woman) before complying with the order. He then listened as four sets of footsteps made their way to the dining room where Uncle Vernon and Dudley were currently dishing up seconds; neither of them had waited for Aunt Petunia to return before starting on their food (something they did frequently enough for Harry to know that was what they'd done even without using the Namelessness to look).

"_Now see here, why are you here bothering us during our meal when you should be out there hunting down the murderer that did in poor Mr. Roberts's mother?_" Uncle Vernon demanded the moment the group reached the dining room; the corpulent man could only tolerate so much and intruding upon his meals was one thing that was always sure to get his dander up.

"_We apologize for interrupting your meal but we had a few more questions that we needed to ask you and since this is the only day we will be in town, we thought it best to get it over with so as not to drag the matter out for too much longer,_" Detective Lestrade soothingly explained.

"_Of course, the sooner the culprit is behind bars, the easier we'll rest,_" Uncle Vernon blustered in order to not appear too uncooperative.

"_Where is your bathroom?_" Mr. Holmes suddenly demanded.

"_It's upstairs… let me show you,_" Aunt Petunia insisted only to be cut off by Mr. Holmes.

"_No need, Mrs. Dursley, I'm sure that I can find it fairly easily since most of the houses in this small town all have the same basic layout. Inspector Lestrade and Dr. Watson still need to speak with you, after all, and I wouldn't want to be the cause of your meal being delayed further._"

Aunt Petunia's protests fell on deaf ears as the man undoubtedly exited the dining room and firmly closed the door behind him. Harry thought Mr. Holmes was awfully brave to risk earning the Dursleys' ire. Curious as to why the man was so desperate to ditch his companions and his relatives, Harry tentatively brought up the Namelessness once more and tracked the man's progress through the house. He was more than a little shocked to learn that the man was actually systematically searching through the Dursleys' house as if he expected to find something instead of going straight to the bathroom as he'd claimed he would be doing.

It didn't take long before the man was climbing up the stairs and Harry held his breath as long ingrained habits based upon the Dursleys' rules kicked in; his fear of punishment if his presence should be discovered far outweighing his wish to correct Mr. Holmes's mistake.

"_Ah-ha,_" Mr. Holmes declared as he headed straight for the linen closet. "_Let us see what kind of skeletons Mr. and Mrs. Disgustingly-Perfect-House-and-Yard are hiding in an out of place locked closet._"

Harry gasped softly and slapped both hands over his mouth as immediately realized that the man was _going to open _his closet. Even now, he could hear the man fiddling with the locks that his aunt and uncle had attached to the door in order to prevent him from sneaking out. Panic and hope blossomed and warred within his chest as the locks were opened in rapid succession; his mixed emotions freezing him in place and allowing his connection to the Namelessness to unravel as he lost the concentration necessary to maintain the connection.

"Oh, bloody hell, you have got to be kidding me," Mr. Holmes muttered the moment he opened the door and Harry shrank back into the corner as the enormity of what being found would mean struck him. The man cursed under his breath for a long minute before he raised his voice and yelled, "_John, get up here. __**NOW**__!_"

There was a commotion downstairs that sounded like the Dursleys arguing with the other two men that had come with Mr. Holmes but Harry didn't pay it any attention. He was far too busy wrapping his arms protectively around his head after he'd flinched in response to Mr. Holmes raising his voice so unexpectedly; the loud sound hurting his sensitive ears.

"Sherlock, what in the world are you doing? I thought you wanted to question the Dursleys; not go snooping through their house?" Dr. Watson demanded as he came rushing up the staircase.

"John, stop talking; you have a patient," Mr. Holmes snapped in an emotionless tone as he shifted away from the open door of the linen closet. "I will go advise Inspector Lestrade to have the Not-So-Perfect-Now couple taken into custody."

"Yeah, you do that… and if Mr. Dursley resists arrest; punch him twice for me," Dr. Watson growled in an angry tone and Harry couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped from his mouth. The man bit off a curse and took a deep breath that he let out real slow just before he addressed Harry, "I'm sorry if I frightened you, kid; I'm not angry at you. My name is John Watson and I'm a doctor. I'd like to take a look at you; if you'll let me."

Harry trembled as long ingrained habits warred with his need to tell Mr. Holmes of his mistake and his desire to escape the prison he'd been kept in for the last five years. He was just lowering his arms away from his head so he could better track Dr. Watson's movements by sound when an explosion of sound erupted from downstairs. Uncle Vernon's loud voice coupled with Aunt Petunia's shrill tones and Dudley's wails eventually coalesced into words that were interspersed with Mr. Holmes's cutting remarks and Inspector Lestrade's firm orders.

"_How dare that man go snooping!?_"  
>"<em>You can't arrest me! I know my rights! You had no right to search our house!<em>"  
>"<em>Let go of my mummy and daddy!<em>"  
>"<em>Mr. Dursley, contain yourself! Anderson, don't just stand there!<em>"  
>"<em>Oh please, your meticulousness was an open calling card stating there was something rotten with your entire family.<em>"  
>"<em>Sherlock, you aren't helping!<em>"  
>"<em>I'll have your badge for this! I demand to talk to my lawyer!<em>"  
>"<em>We've done nothing wrong!<em>"  
>"<em>I didn't think anyone could be a bigger idiot than Anderson here but you've just gone and proved me wrong.<em>"  
>"<em>This is all the Freak's fault! He always ruins everything! You should take the Freak away and leave my mummy and daddy alone!<em>"

"_Freak? Oh how pitiful you two are for ruining a perfectly impressionable mind with your twaddle to say nothing of the wretched state you've allowed your offspring to fall into by following your rather poor examples. The knowledge that you two imbeciles were allowed to even procreate let alone be responsible for someone else's progeny just boggles the mind,_" Mr. Holmes retorted before the commotion moved from the dining room to the front yard where it was a little harder to hear without calling upon the Namelessness inside of him to carry the words on the wind.

"Ignore them," Dr. Watson urged as he knelt down and half entered the closet. "They can't harm you now; we won't let them hurt you anymore. I promise; you're safe now."

"Promise…?" Harry parroted in a soft whisper as he uncurled just enough to uncover his bandaged wrapped face.

"Yes, I promise."

"Will… will I have to stay here…?"

"No. You will not."

"You'll let me out? You won't lock me back in again? Promise?"

"I promise."

"Where will I go…?"

"To the hospital first… and from there we'll find you a temporary place to stay while things are sorted out."

"Can I… will you let me talk to Mr. Holmes before you send me away?"

"You want to talk to Sherlock? Well, I'm sure there will be plenty of time for you to tell Sherlock whatever it is you want to tell him. I'll even make certain that he stands still long enough to hear what it is you have to say," Dr. Watson replied and Harry could almost hear the smile in the man's voice alongside the uncertainty. The man then dropped his voice to a quiet mutter as he added, "Even if I have to nail his shoes to the floor to keep him from fleeing from you in terror the moment he learns a child wishes to speak to him."

Harry didn't think he was supposed to hear that last bit but he couldn't help but feel slightly less frightened by the idea that Mr. Holmes would be frightened of him (especially after hearing the man bravely yelling insults at Uncle Vernon). Uncurling further, Harry slowly scooted forward so that he was perched on the very edge of the cot mattress that masqueraded as his bed and canted his head to one side as he waited expectantly.

When the silence began growing uncomfortable, Harry asked, "What happens now?"

"Well, I need to examine you so I can inform Inspector Lestrade if it turns out that we need to call upon the emergency services to treat any injuries you might have before they take you to the hospital for a more thorough check up."

"Will it hurt…?"

"Normally, I would say no; but I don't know if you are hurt yet and I might accidentally cause you some pain. I will try to be very careful though and if you can tell me where it hurts now, I'll have a better idea of what not to do so as to not cause you unnecessary pain."

"Oh, I guess that's okay. I'm not hurt. Does that mean you don't have to look at me now?"

"Er, no, I'd still like to give you a quick exam; just in case. Is it alright if I turn on the light so I can better see you? The bright light won't bother your eyes if I turn it on, will it?"

"Go ahead, Dr. Watson; the light won't bother me. The Darkness never lets me see the light anymore."

"The darkness…?" Dr. Watson repeated even as he pulled on the cord of the small light that Uncle Vernon had installed on the ceiling of the small closest so Aunt Petunia could see inside the small room when she had to clean it out. "Are you blind, child?"

"Yes."

"Have you always been blind?" Dr. Watson asked once he collected himself. "And please don't be startled, I'm going to place my hands on your head so that I can check for head injuries and take a look at your ears."

"No, The Darkness came for me five years ago. Your hands are cold."

"You aren't the only one to complain about my hands being cold; all of my patients tell me the same thing. I always tell them that I carry around bags of ice in my pockets just to keep them that way so they always have something to complain about and focus on aside from their aches and pains. Can you tell me how you lost your eyesight?"

Harry giggled over the sheer silliness of the idea that someone would carry around ice in their pockets just to keep their hands cold before he grew tense at the question. He'd been told to never speak about that day. He didn't even know what had really happened that day and he knew better than to ask his relatives; they hated it whenever he dared ask questions.

"I'm not supposed to say."

"Who told you that?"

"Aunt Petunia."

"Did your aunt have anything to do with how you ended up blind?"

"N-n-o-o," Harry drawled out in an uncertain tone.

"Was it your cousin or uncle then?"

"I don't know," Harry finally admitted in a small voice. "I was washing the window and the sun was so bright that I couldn't see anything but the light on the glass and then there was pain before everything went dark. The Darkness has stayed ever since then."

"Do you remember what the doctor told you happened?"

"You're the only doctor that has ever looked at me as far as I know."

"The only…?" Dr. Watson began only to cut off as he let out a few choice curse words that Harry filed away for later use because of how interesting they sounded. "Okay, next question… how old are you?"

"Nine… I think."

"Do you know when your birthday is?"

"No, I don't have one… well I do, since I was born, but I don't because the Dursleys told me I didn't so I don't know."

"And you said Petunia Dursley was your aunt, correct?" Dr. Watson inquired as he checked Harry's pulse before he tested the nine year old's reflexes.

"Yes."

"How long have you lived with the Dursleys? Where are your parents?"

"Are you going to keep asking lots of questions? I'm not… that is I don't… talking lots is hard."

"My apologies, I did not realize I was making things difficult for you. Is your throat sore?"

"Just tired… I think. My aunt never wants me to talk to her so I don't really talk to anyone," Harry murmured around a yawn.

"Ah, alright, last question for now then; will you let take off the bandages around your eyes so that I can look at them?"

"Aunt Petunia told me I wasn't supposed to take them off. She said my eyes disgusted her."

"Your aunt is a small minded dullard," Mr. Holmes declared; his unexpected interjection making Harry jump in surprise as he had not heard the man return.

"She is a dreadful gossip too," Harry added before he clapped his hands over his mouth and attempted to retreat back to the corner of his bed only to be halted by Dr. Watson's hand on his knees.

"Easy, lad; you're not in any trouble," Dr. Watson assured him. "That's it; just relax. Sherlock, are they still here or have they been taken away?"

"The overly self-inflated talking blimp and his petty bean-pole wife were carted off ten minutes ago. The mini-blimp is still here; Lestrade is waiting on the brat's aunt to fetch him."

"Aunt Marge," Harry whimpered as he curled in on himself as best he could with Dr. Watson still keeping a lose hold on him. "Are you going to send me with her too?"

"No; you're bound for the hospital first," Dr. Watson reminded him. "Now, about that blindfold… may I please remove it? I'd really like to take a look at your eyes. If it would make you feel more comfortable, I will promise to put it back on once I've finished checking them."

"Okay."

Harry held himself extra still as he felt Dr. Watson slowly unravel the layers of gauze that hid his eyes. Out of habit, he closed his eyes just before the final layer was removed and he flinched a bit when the doctor's cold hands reached up to touch his face.

"Oh, sorry about that; I had forgot that I refroze my hands just now," Dr. Watson murmured and Harry couldn't help but snicker when he heard Mr. Holmes snort a soft 'how absurd' in response. "Can you open your eyes for me now?" Harry reluctantly obeyed the request and tensed up as he waited for the doctor to verbally comment on how horrid his eyes looked. He was more than a little puzzled when he got an absentminded assessment of his eyes instead, "Odd, there is absolutely no residual scarring or clouding present within either orb to indicate the cause of blindness. The pupils also failed to react to an increase in light after being unbandaged; that could be an indication of nerve damage but I'm hardly an expert on the anatomy of an eye."

"That's because you're a military surgeon, not an ophthalmologist, John," Sherlock unhelpfully pointed out.

"Thank you for the reminder, Sherlock; I'm happy to know that I didn't suddenly forget all of the non-existent classes I took to not become an eye surgeon," Dr. Watson huffed in exasperation. "Alright, lad; I'm done looking at your eyes. Do you want me to replace the bandages or would you like me to leave them off?"

"Will I make you sick if I leave them off…? I know I'm not supposed to… but the gauze is itchy."

"Yes, I noticed the obvious signs of irritation along where your skin had prolonged contact with the bandages; it is probably best that we leave them off for now to allow the skin to breathe. If it bothers you to have them uncovered, we can find an alternate means of covering them that will be less irritating. And no; your eyes will not make us sick."

"Okay."

"Good. We're all finished here now and it's about time for you to go as I believe I just heard the ambulance pull up. Is there anything in here that you'd like to take with you?"

"Does that mean I'll be allowed to keep my treasures?"

"Yes," Dr. Watson promptly replied and Harry felt a wave of relief knowing that he wouldn't have to leave his purloined treasures behind to be destroyed.

Twisting free of Dr. Watson's hold, Harry crawled to the far edge of his bed where the mattress butted up against the wall and stuffed his hand down beneath the flimsy mattress to fetch his treasures. There was the broken music box, a jagged piece of quartz, three half melted army men, a battered old toy motorcycle, and a dozen broken crayons. He was just sitting up with his treasures in hand when the pin that held the gears on the music box in place slipped free and the notes of _Die Moldau_ filled his closet.

Harry froze as the tune he once loved filled the air and then the terror from the other day came rushing back and he couldn't breathe as he was forced to relive his memory of Mrs. Roberts's death again and again as the music continued to play. His treasures tumbled from his hands as what was left of his lunch that afternoon made a reappearance. He choked on bile for a moment before the feel of hands had him scrambling back and away; his mind automatically thinking his aunt had come to punish him for being sick in his closet again.

And still the music played and all he could see in his mind's eye was the blood pooling on the floor as the knife sliced through Mrs. Roberts's back, stomach, and chest.

"Stop it…" Harry finally choked out as he twisted and flailed about trying to escape the music. "Please make it stop! No more! I don't want to see it any more! Please, make it go away!"

"Calm down, child; we can't help you if you keep fighting us. Now, hold still and tell us what it is you want us to stop," Mr. Holmes firmly ordered in a tone that cut straight through Harry's panic and inspired instant cooperation.

"Please make the music stop," Harry begged. "Please… I don't want to see her blood any more."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

* Die Moldau (or The Moldau) was composed by Bedřich Smetana in 1874 as part of Má vlast (My Country or My Homeland) which was comprised of six symphonic poems.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> _Okay, before I get any flames over Harry's breakdown at the end of the chapter; please keep in mind that Harry is a nine year old child at this point, that he just witnessed a brutal murder, and that he's been tormented by nightmares for the past several days because of it. He's also more than a little unbalanced emotionally, mentally, and socially due to his near complete isolation for the past five years. The time he spent watching the town through his magic did not help him cope with what he witnessed because he's never before seen anything so horrific before. _

_He is also fighting his aunt and uncle's rules, his ingrained responses to breaking those rules, and his burning desire to be free from his prison (because even he knows that there's something wrong with the Dursleys keeping him locked in a closet). He's opening up to Dr. Watson because he's the first friendly person that has approached him in at least five years and the good doctor is doing his best not to frighten him. His thoughts on Sherlock were posted in-chapter and therefore his reactions to the man should be obvious._


	4. Childish Corrections

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Three: Childish Corrections<span>

_Saturday, November 04, 1989 7:13 P.M.  
>No. 113 Nine Ashes Lane, Blackmore, Essex<br>England_

Silence filled the small closet within mere seconds of Harry's plea and he let out a single sob of relief before he fell silent once more. His entire body shuddered twice before he completely fell still but for the slight rise and fall of his chest as he drew in one shaky breath after another as he tried not to 'see' Mrs. Roberts again. The hands holding him down slowly withdrew at that point until there was just one hand lightly resting on the middle of his back. Harry didn't feel it though; he was still lost somewhere between then and now and his senses were all twisted around. He could still hear their voices though; even if the words didn't quite makes sense to him at the moment.

"Well, that was an experience I could have done without," Mr. Holmes declared distastefully as he backed out of the closet.

"Yes, well I'm certain the poor lad didn't engineer the entire episode just to make you feel uncomfortable," Dr. Watson dryly remarked before the hand on Harry's back began rubbing gentle circles as the doctor's voice leaned closer to ask, "Are you alright now, lad?"

"Why do you not use the child's name when addressing him?"

"I don't know his name."

"You managed to spend nearly an hour with the boy and you didn't get his name?" Mr. Holmes demanded incredulously.

"I was a bit preoccupied with trying to keep him from panicking while I did my best to determine whether or not he was suffering from any physical injuries on top of the obvious neglect and inevitable emotional injuries those beasts inflicted upon him."

"And you were afraid to ask him."

"Yes," Dr. Watson huffed in annoyance before he reluctantly added, "I didn't want him to refer to himself by freak or demon or some other demeaning name they might have assigned him in place of his actual name." The doctor then gently shook Harry before he searched for Harry's heartbeat and checked Harry's unresponsive eyes. "Lad…? Are you alright, child? Damnation. The lad's in a state of severe shock. Whatever memory the music triggered must have been extremely traumatic."

"It was a fairly recent memory because he still considered the music box one of his precious treasures," Mr. Holmes deduced as he struck a match and lit the pipe he pulled out of his coat pocket; the pungent smell of burning tobacco (so different and new) quickly cutting through Harry's addled thoughts. "If it had been an older memory, he would have become desensitized to the tune and his reaction would not have been so severe. Yes. He's the one."

"I'm sorry; you've lost me again, Sherlock. What are you talking about?"

"The boy; he's our witness."

"Witness to what? His own abuse at the hands of his family?"

"No, don't be dense, John. Well, yes, he's a witness to that as well but that has nothing to do with why we were here in the first place. He is our witness. Our only witness, I might add."

"Are you trying to tell me that you think this kid witnessed the murder next door? How? He's obviously been locked in this closet for who knows how long… and he's _blind_, Sherlock; he wouldn't have seen anything."

"Bah, most humans don't even bother to look when they have eyes to see. He heard something; I know he did. And you can't deny that people who have lost one sense have often remarked upon their remaining senses becoming enhanced to make up for the loss. Sound travels on the wind and he would have been here… alone in the silence. He could have heard an automobile pull up or the woman's scream when she was attacked. Or he could have heard the murderer talking to his accomplices. Mark my words; he knows something."

"And just how did you arrive at that conclusion, Sherlock?" Inspector Lestrade inquired as he finally joined Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson upstairs.

"Really, Inspector; some days you really are almost as dense as Anderson. Must I spell everything out? He said, and I quote, 'I don't want to see it anymore! I don't want to see her blood any more.' He didn't want to see _her blood_. There are only ten people who should know exactly how Mrs. Roberts died; her murderer, the murderer's two accomplices, her son, the three members of Blackmore's constabulary, and the three of us. And yet; this imprisoned child knew that she'd been stabbed. How would he know that unless he had witnessed the crime? Or are you going to tell me that the child committed the crime?"

"The kid doesn't look like he could support his own weight let alone the weight of a woman of Mrs. Roberts's size and age when in comparison to his own," Inspector Lestrade dismissively pointed out. "At the same time, I think you're barking up the wrong tree on this one, Sherlock. This house was re-insulated not long after the Dursleys moved in; very little sound travels into or out of the house. That was one thing the neighbors were quick to point out just now when I had the local boys start taking statements to see if we can find anyone who knew the boy was living here. I'm pretty certain that the kid was just another victim of a completely unrelated crime."

"Wrong," Sherlock retorted as he childishly plugged his ears.

Inspector Lestrade snorted and shook his head before he dismissed Mr. Holmes completely and addressed the man that was still kneeling beside Harry's bed, "Dr. Watson, can you carry the lad down to the paramedics now? They're waiting for him."

"Sure thing, Inspector," Dr. Watson replied as he gently rolled Harry onto his back before he scooped him up into his arms and backed out of the closet as Harry let out a startled hiss and stiffened at the unfamiliar contact. "Sorry, lad; I didn't know you were back with us again or I would have warned you before I picked you up. I'm just taking you down to the paramedics so they can take you to the hospital for a proper check-up."

"You promised."

"Yes, yes I did. Don't worry; everything is going to be alright. Just relax and I'll have you out of here before you can say Bob's your uncle."

"No. You promised," Harry countered as he fisted his hand in John's jumper and gazed up at the man with dead green eyes. "You promised me you'd let me talk to Mr. Holmes and that you'd make him listen."

"And what is it you want to tell me?" Mr. Holmes demanded as he was suddenly standing right beside Dr. Watson and staring at Harry.

"You were wrong," Harry firmly stated as he turned to pin Mr. Holmes with his unseeing eyes. "There were four, not three. Mrs. Smyth let the two strangers into Mr. Roberts's house. They were stealing the expensive treasures Mr. Roberts collected. The last man pulled up in a dark van; it had a funny picture on the side that sort of looked like a long-beaked, stick-legged bird holding a bundle in its beak. The driver never left the van and it was the shorter stranger that stabbed Mrs. Roberts; in the back first before he… the knife… the blood… it made me sick…"

"Oh great, as if one freak wasn't bad enough; he had to go and find a stunted mimic," a man's snide voice interjected, making Harry start and forget about the feeling of his stomach cramping in distress over his memories as he whipped his head around to search for the source of the new voice. "Tell me, how could a blind brat see the color of the van or what was painted on the side?"

"I don't have to see you to know that you have dark hair, beady little eyes, and a sourpuss face," Harry retorted as he automatically began humming silently to better control the Namelessness so he could see the man clearly. "The suit you are wearing is a dark blue or gray but not a true black because black makes your skin look far too sallow and the pale dress shirt you are wearing under it is missing two buttons. The blue windbreaker you are wearing overtop of your suit has a tear on the back of the left shoulder that you snagged on the door frame just now when you were entering the house. And you spilled coffee all down your pants when you stopped at the bakery in town for a bun instead of interviewing the teachers at the school house like you were supposed to earlier this afternoon."

"How the hell could you possibly know that!?" the man demanded before he rounded on Mr. Holmes. "What have you been telling the brat, Freak!?"

"Sherlock hasn't said more than a dozen words to the child, Anderson," Inspector Lestrade barked as he pushed the irate man back away from Harry and the other two men. "You are out of line, _again_. Not only are you badgering a potential witness but you are purposefully neglecting your duties."

"That's nothing new," Mr. Holmes muttered just loud enough for Harry to pick up while Dr. Watson kicked the taller man in the ankle to shut him up; lightly jostling Harry in the process.

"You can't tell me you believe the little runt?"

"He obviously touched a nerve with his words or you wouldn't have verbally attacked him which lends far more credence to his assertion than you did with your defensive and explosive rebuttal. Now get the hell out of here and go get your job done. Oh and, Anderson, I will be following up with each and everyone of the teachers on the local staff and if even one of them contradicts so much as a single punctuation mark in your report, I'll suspend you so fast that you'll be seeing stars from the backlash for the next month."

"Absolutely brilliant," Mr. Holmes declared cheerfully as the sour-faced Anderson stormed down the stairs and out of the house. "What a marvelous performance. I don't think I've ever turned Anderson's face that exact shade of reddish-purple with any of my taunts through the years. And for the record, Lestrade; I told you so."

"Shut up, Sherlock," Inspector Lestrade huffed before he approached Harry. "Can you tell me who exactly Mrs. Smyth is, young man?"

"Mrs. Smyth is Mr. Roberts's cleaning lady and the woman he was cheating with on his fiancée."

"And how exactly do you know that?" Mr. Holmes asked; blatant curiosity coloring his tone.

"She's been working for him for at least a year and a half and always shows up next door on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays in high heels that snick across the marble entryway and click on the hardwood floors. Mr. Roberts is always there to let her in before he leaves for work and he always leaves an hour later than normal after he lets her in. The metal frame of his bed would then squeak and bounce against the wall for exactly forty minutes after that before the shower ran for ten minutes; the pipes squeal something fierce when he runs his hot water. The only other time his bed made sounds like that was when Miss Halsey stayed the night with him."

Harry withheld the information that he'd actually _seen_ what the man got up to with the cleaner woman and with Miss Halsey thanks to the Namelessness; those kinds of painted pictures always made him uncomfortable when he thought about them. And it wasn't just his neighbors he'd caught doing _that_. The worst had been when he'd seen Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon doing things other than sleeping in their bed. Suffice it to say that he knew far more about what went on behind closed doors than most other kids his age knew. And even a few things that few adults would ever openly admit to knowing.

"I told you he heard something," Mr. Holmes crowed as he abruptly snagged Harry out of Dr. Watson's arms and began carrying him towards the stairs. "I do believe that this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship. Tell the annoying chit from child services that her services or lack there of are no longer needed, Inspector; Dr. Watson and I will be taking the little crusher of egos into protective custody since he'll obviously be targeted once word gets out that he's the only witness to a heinous crime. John, be certain to grab the tyke's broken treasures for him, will you?"

"It's doesn't work that way, Sherlock!" Inspector Lestrade countered with exasperation as he tore after Mr. Holmes and Harry. "You can't just decide that you're going to take custody of a witness and a minor! There are rules and protocols that need to be followed. Sherlock! Damn you, Holmes; the child needs to be treated at a hospital so that his injuries and current health can be properly documented. _**Dr. Watson!**_ Will you get down here and do something, please!?"

Harry lost Dr. Watson's reply as his senses were hit with a wall of scents, sounds, and feelings as he left the house for the first time in five years and he gasped in shock as his ears, nose, and skin were assaulted on all sides. It was overpowering and he couldn't even hear his own thoughts as the world burst into life around him; the montage of sounds, smells, and frigid air completely overwhelming him. The Namelessness was never this overpowering, never this powerfully intense, and it was frightening for the child that had been locked away in a closet for more than half of his life.

Instinct took over and he first made to flee back into the house where he knew he would be protected. The hands holding him refused to release him though and he eventually sought to burrow into the chest of the man holding him in an effort to escape from everything that was pressing down on him. The flood was ten times worse than the silence and The Darkness combined and at that moment Harry almost wished he was locked up safely in his closet once more.

"Easy, kid; block it all out. Close your mind and let everything else fall away," a quiet, low voice told him as something heavy was draped completely over him to block out a portion of the assault on his senses. "Breath in and breath out, slow and steady; there is nothing but you and the air you are breathing."

Harry latched onto that voice with the desperateness of a drowning man clinging to the first thing his hands can latch onto. The calm instructions, repeated every few minutes the moment he lost hold of them and his panic returned, helped hold him steady and pull him back from the onslaught. Exhaustion followed on the heels of his panic once he was no longer being overpowered by the flood of stimuli; his lungs now filled with the scent of old leather, motor oil, and burnt tobacco while his ears only registered a faint hum of voices and sounds outside of the bubble of calm he was sitting within.

"Good, very good; keep breathing and don't think about anything. While we wait for the good doctor, you and I are going to play a little word game. I'm going to say a word and I want you to say the first word that pops into your head. There is no need for you to think about anything just let your mind form the answers for you as you hear the words. Okay?"

Harry nodded numbly as he continued to breathe in and out; his trust in the voice absolute at the moment because it had restored order and beat back the crushing weight of the world.

"Alright, here we go; the first word is closet."

"Prison," Harry whispered before the word even register in his mind.

"Door?"

"Locks."

"Window?" the voice asked next.

"Shattered."

"Mirror?"

"Empty."

"Parents?"

"Dead," Harry breathed with a slight hitch in his voice.

"Stay calm, remember your breathing; keep your mind clear and don't think about your answers," the voice ordered instead if offering up another word. "Good, slow and steady. I'm going to continue the game now. The next word is father."

"Faceless."

"Mother?"

A dozen different words crowded into his mind and with them came the images from his oldest nightmare; a terrifying green light, a cruel laugh, red hair spilling over the floor like a pool of blood, and pain. Panic filled him again until the voice cut through the memories once more; the instructions bringing calm and helping to banish the nightmares.

"Let it go; breathe in and breathe out. We'll try a different word. We'll come back to that one another time. For now, what do you think of when I say the word aunt?"

"Bitter."

"Uncle?"

"Cold."

"Cousin?"

"Baby whale."

"That's two words," the voice chided with a brief laugh. "Tell me what you think of when you hear the word school."

"Not allowed."

"Again with the double words… okay, the next word is questions."

"Forbidden."

"Food?"

"Hunger," Harry murmured as he tried to ignore the way his stomach clenched painfully over the reminder that he'd eaten very little since the day Mrs. Roberts had been killed.

"Steady, don't lose your focus now; we're almost done and John will be joining us in just a few minutes. Take another breath and let it out before you tell me what you think of when I say music."

"The Namelessness."

"Name?"

"Identity."

"Birthday?"

"Envy."

"Presents?"

"Spoiled."

"Cake?"

"Poison."

"Ice Cream?"

"Taunt."

"Biscuits?"

"Tease."

"Alright, just a couple more and we're done; what does the word blind mean to you?"

"The Darkness."

"Darkness?"

"Colorless."

"Colors?"

"Lost."

"Last one now; silence?"

"Crushing."

"Good job; you did very well. Now, go to sleep. I will keep you safe."

Harry only half obeyed the command as the sound of a car door opened and the world intruded briefly upon his calm before the door was pulled shut to seal out the world once more. He couldn't help but flinch from the brief assault and then flinch again when felt fingers comb through his hair as the voice once more ordered, "Sleep."

"Nightmares," Harry whimpered as his tired brain immediately assumed he was still supposed to be playing the strange game the voice had started even though he'd been told it was over.

"There is nothing to be afraid of here; we will not let anyone harm you. Now go to sleep," the voice ordered firmly and Harry reluctantly complied.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, you can't just expect the kid to fall asleep because you ordered him to," John pointed out with a touch of exasperation as he settled onto the seat beside the other man. "And what exactly are you playing at here? You do know that you can't claim you're taking a witness into protective custody and expect to be allowed to keep him. The boy's a child and he needs to be properly looked after…"<p>

"Do keep your voice down, John; the boy is sleeping. He needs his rest; he's utterly exhausted. And did you not hear what he told Anderson, John?"

"Of course, I did, Sherlock. I was standing right there with him in my arms."

"Then tell me, Dr. Watson; how exactly did he know that Anderson was slacking off this afternoon if he'd been locked inside of his closet the entire time? Something isn't adding up and I will get to the bottom of it. Until then, this child is not leaving my sight unless he is in your care."

"He is not one of your cases, Sherlock; he's a living, breathing child. An abused child at that and he doesn't need you deducing the dickens out of him when he's suffering enough already on top of the trauma of apparently witnessing the murder of a woman in the house next door."

"That's another thing. Did you tell him my last name while I was out of the room?"

"What does that have to do with anything…?"

"Just answered the question; yes or no?"

"No."

"Then how did he know you promised him he could speak to 'Mr. Holmes'?"

"He asked me…" John replied only for Sherlock to cut him off.

"And who, pray tell, would have introduced me to him as Mr. Holmes? I did no such thing and you claim you did no such thing so logic dictates that he already knew my name but I know I've not met him before tonight."

"He could have heard it on the telly or on the radio or one of his relatives might have told him."

"No. There are at least seventy-five other individuals out there with the first name of Sherlock; he had no reason to automatically associate my first name with my last name upon first hearing you use my name. He knew who I was and not because he recognized my name from a news spiel or your blog. And his so called guardians spent as little time with him as possible; they would have had no reason to speak my name in front of him. He specifically wanted to tell me I was wrong. He wanted me to know that I had made a mistake. Doesn't that strike you as odd, John?"

"Is this another one of your conspiracy theories, Sherlock? Because if it is, then I really don't want to hear it. And do not for a second even think that I will allow you to drag an _innocent_ and _abused_ child into one of your twisted plots. He's suffered more than enough at the hands of his so called family."

"You wound me, John; when have I ever dragged an innocent into anything? And don't claim that I constantly drag you along for the ride because we both know that you were never an innocent."

"I don't even know why I bother trying sometimes."

"Because you know I am right all the time," Sherlock smugly pointed out as he shifted the small body curled up on his lap so he could pull out his cell phone to text a message to Lestrade.

"Apparently, no you're not; because there were four not three."

"I'm still right ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, John. And I was right about the boy having witnessed the murder of his neighbor's mother."

"Where do you plan on taking the boy? He can't stay with us; the flat is an absolute mess and you have seven different experiments mildewing about the place."

"There are only three experiments dealing with various forms of mildew and they are all confined to their containers in the refrigerator unless you cracked them open and since you would have had to have opened them to know they were moldy, I'll need to throw them out and start them all over again. The rest of my experiments are harmless and easily cleaned up. We can leave him with Mrs. Hudson while you clean up the flat and I track down a few necessities."

"He needs to go to the hospital, Sherlock; his injuries and any ailments that he might be suffering from need to be diagnosed, documented, and treated for the police report. Or do you wish for his _relatives_ to have him back in their clutches within the next forty-eight hours?"

"Fine, I will take the boy to St. Bartholomew's Hospital and you can prepare the flat."

"No. I'm the doctor, I will take the child to the hospital and you can clean up your own messes for once. And before you argue with me further; do keep in mind that my credentials will allow me to remain by the child's side throughout any and all testing and treatments he undergoes whereas you would be arrested for creating a disturbance the moment you tried to follow him into one of the restricted areas."

"Fine; but I do not want to hear one word of complaint about how I deal with my experiments."

"So long as they do not remain anywhere in our flat, I don't care what you do with them. Just remember; kids get into everything and once he feels comfortable enough, he will go exploring and he will find anything and everything you don't want him to find. He is at an age where he will be utterly curious about the world around him and that curiosity, once unleashed, will be near uncontainable after being stifled for at least five years. It will take time and discipline to teach him how to be circumspect in his pursuits for knowledge." John then dropped his voice and added a muttered, "Not that you will be any help in _that_ department."

"Kindly remember to adhere to your own advice and warnings when you find a more appropriate location to store your guns, John."

"My lock box would have been perfectly safe if you hadn't busted the lock," John groused as he tried not to scowl at the smug man sitting beside him in the back of the car.

"And how safe would your guns have been behind that cheap lock if the boy knew how to pick locks?"

"You mean, how safe would the lock have been after you _taught_ the boy how to pick locks."

"Semantics, John, don't get bogged down in the little details; you'll just rot your brain faster."

"You know what, I'm not going to argue with you any more right now, Sherlock; you've already given me a migraine for the evening and I do need to be cognizant of my surroundings if I am to watch over the lad while he is going through his exams later tonight. Speaking of which, why are we still sitting here? We could have been halfway to Bart's by now."

"We're waiting for our driver to finish tying up loose ends before he returns us to London."

"Oh, of course, I should have known. You're going to make Greg chauffeur us around, aren't you?"

"We are sitting in the Inspector's car and he was the one who dragged us all the way out here in the first place. It is only proper that he return us from whence he absconded with us without so much as a by-your-leave."

"As I recall, you were the one that decided we just had to tag along when we could have easily stayed at home and viewed all of the evidence at the Yard once Greg had returned to London."

"Of course I did! You and I both know that Anderson couldn't properly catalog a piece of evidence if someone smacked him over the head with it. You know I work best when I can view the evidence undisturbed on the scene of the crime. There is less of chance of an important clue being tampered with or doctored to skew the results that way. It was bad enough that the geriatric league here had their grubby fingers all over my evidence; if they hadn't marred the scene, then I never would have miscounted the number of suspects involved."

"You are annoyed that someone pointed out another one of your mistakes," John stated in disbelief; though part of him knew he shouldn't have been surprised.

"No, I'm annoyed that it took a child to point out what everyone else did wrong when I should have seen it right from the start. I also want to know how he knew exactly what to say to push Anderson's buttons so quickly. I wonder, do you think the kid was reading my mind? It's like he pulled his deductions right out of my Mind Palace; although I do not believe I've ever felt the urge to tell Anderson that he had a sourpuss face. I will have to remember that one though; if only to see if I can make his face turn that particular shade. Though, the insult is rather plebeian in nature; not unexpected given the source."

John groaned and palmed his face as he tried not to allow his friend and flat-mate to get to him yet again; he'd known Sherlock long enough to expect him to be difficult when the mood struck him. This was just one of those times when John wondered why he put up with Sherlock's antics as often as he did. The semi-harassed doctor let out a choked laugh when he realized he put up with the man because his life would be, to quote Sherlock, 'dull' without him around.

As he glanced out the window to see an irritated Lestrade marching in their general direction, he prayed the young lad they'd rescued was made of sterner stuff than he appeared to be; otherwise the kid was either going to throw himself off of the roof or strangle Sherlock in his sleep the first chance he got.

"No, he won't. If he was harboring suicidal or homicidal tendencies, he would have snapped years ago," Sherlock countered as he studied the sleeping child that was still curled up within the folds of Sherlock's trench coat on the man's lap.

"Get out of my head, Sherlock."

"Don't advertise your thoughts on your face, John."

"Do go looking for them," John maturely retorted. "Instead of needling me right now because you're unhappy, why don't you tell me what you've deduced about the kid during the short but far too long of time that you've had him in your sole care."

"If you insist, though how you can be so hypocritical right now in demanding I deduce a child of all people when you are constantly telling me not to deduce perfect strangers is beyond me."

"Sherlock, just tell me what you have learned about the kid before I kick you in the knee cap, pass the kid back to Greg, and sick Mycroft on you for a month."

"No need to get vicious, I was only commenting on your double standards. To start with, you'll want to take note of the fact that the kid believes his parents are dead and mother is a serious trigger word. His blindness might have been triggered by an explosion of fine glass shards and he has a wonderful sense of humor beneath his other issues. He is suffering from a mild identity crisis, associates sweets with negative reinforcement, and he was completely overwhelmed by an abundance of stimuli the moment we stepped outside of the house. It took me close to fifteen minutes just to calm him down enough to talk him into a trance in order to coax a few answers from him."

"Did you at least get his name?"

"No," Sherlock muttered petulantly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> _I have to admit that I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I originally thought that I was going to have trouble writing John and Sherlock simply because I'm not as familiar with the Sherlock characters as I am with HP characters but it their interactions just flowed from my keyboard. They may not be perfectly in character according to canon purists but I couldn't bring myself to change the way I wrote them here. I have to say, I really feel for Lestrade in this chapter too; I can just see him tearing his hear out over Sherlock's antics. *snickers* ~ Jenn_


	5. Managing Mycroft

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Four: Managing Mycroft<span>

_Saturday, November 04, 1989 10:13 P.M.  
>St. Bartholomew's Hospital, Smithfield, London<br>England_

John had barely been inside Bart's for all of ten minutes (just enough time to get the paperwork started for the temporary ward that Sherlock was determined to take custody of) when his phone alerted him to an incoming text message. He half glared at his phone the moment he saw who the message was from before he huffed and opened the text to see what Sherlock's annoying older brother had to say this time.

_Where did Sherlock get a child from and why are you allowing him to keep the child?_

John felt an urge to throw his phone across the room. Or punch Mycroft. Sadly, Mycroft wasn't yet within punching range and he needed his phone in case Sherlock got in over his head again. Instead, he calmly counted to ten and filled out another two sections of paperwork while he waited for one of the orderlies to call for little John Doe (since neither of them had managed to get the child's name out of him or his relatives as of yet). Mycroft wasn't overly fond of being made to wait though nor was he a very patient man and after ten minutes, he sent another text.

_I want an answer, now, Watson._

John simply closed the message after reading it and continued filling out the forms that the woman manning the admissions desk passed to him. When the next alert reached his phone, John didn't even bother to read it as he calmly turned off the phone; the hospital did have a policy against allowing active cell phones beyond certain points. John gave the woman who was checking the child into the hospital a polite smile as he handed her the completed forms after he heard his name called and he carried the still sleeping child he'd been holding over to the gurney that the orderly had brought with him.

The anger John had felt upon first seeing the small boy huddled in the far corner of the closest he'd been locked inside, flared sharply as he noted just how small the young boy looked on the standard sized gurney. It didn't help that the child's unnaturally pale skin and thin frame stood out starkly in the harsh florescent light that flooded the waiting lobby. The only thing that truly surprised him was that the child was not covered with an assortment of bruises in various stages of healing and that aside from the small, faint jagged scar on his forehead, his skin was completely unmarred.

That gave him hope that the child had not been physically abused by his so called family.

Still, the child had suffered from neglect and psychological trauma at least and locking a child inside of a _closet_ was just wrong on so many levels. What kind of people locked another human being in a closet and treated them like some kind of animal? Scum. The worst sort of scum. It sickened him to think of how long the poor child had been trapped with those wretched excuses of caretakers.

The knowledge that they'd nearly left without approaching the Dursleys one final time made his stomach churn as well; that they might not have been in time to save the boy if not for Sherlock's scarf unexpectedly flying off the way it did. It had been so odd, seeing his friend's blue scarf being ripped away from Sherlock's neck as if by invisible fingers before the wind carried the scarf right to the front porch of the Dursley's home; as if someone, or something, had been urging them to investigate the Dursleys.

_Bah, now I'm starting to sound like Sherlock in my own head,_ John thought irritably to himself as he strode alongside the gurney while the orderly expertly navigated through the cluttered halls towards the first available private room so that the child could be changed into a gown and prepped for the first round of exams. _It's only a valid conspiracy theory if he sucks someone else into his delusions._

John would spend the next two hours walking from one end of the hospital to the next as one of the on-duty doctors and nursing staff wheeled the mysterious John Doe from room to room for a full work up of medical tests. Surprisingly, the kid never once stirred during the entire ordeal; a rather good thing in John's eyes since he didn't think the poor kid would have handled the situation well based upon what Sherlock had told him. At the end of those two hours, John returned to their assigned examination room alongside of the child to wait for the results of all the tests that had been run only to find an irate Mycroft Holmes standing in the middle of the room glowering at anyone that moved (bar his assistant who was typing away on her phone in the corner) and near strangling his umbrella.

"You were deliberately ignoring me, Dr. Watson," Mycroft accused the moment John stepped into the room as the orderly wheeled the child's gurney into position near the inactive hospital equipment on the off chance the child needed to be hooked up to any of said equipment.

"I have been in a hospital, surrounded by sensitive medical equipment for the last two and a half hours; I've been ignoring everyone. It's hospital policy and my phone has been off."

"You could have answered my first text; you deliberately ignored me."

"I was busy and quite frankly talking to you was a headache that I had not needed at the time; a headache that I still don't need or want to deal with. Why don't you go pester Sherlock with your demands; you're actually related to him and that makes him fair game."

"All you had to do was answer the question…"

"And a hundred others like it, only they would have been filled with synonyms," John snarked back before he privately thought, _I think I ate something that disagreed with me today; I've been channeling Sherlock all bloody evening._

"Who is the boy, Dr. Watson?"

"Why are you asking me when you probably already know who he is, when he was born, who his parents were, how they died, where they were buried, and who the bloody hell thought the Dursleys made a fine foster family. I'm sure you've already read the police reports…"

"Of course I have, I had them in my hands by the time you shut your phone off when I texted you for the third time."

"You know, it's really creepy the way you stalk everyone like that. And why are you asking me who the kid is when you obviously already know?"

"Why are you allowing Sherlock to keep the child? The child needs to be kept safe; he's a witness to a brutal murder."

"I don't know why you keep insisting that I am Sherlock's keeper. I'm just a former soldier and part time doctor who blogs on the side because I can't live without the thrill of the chase. You're his brother; why don't you ever tell him no?"

"All of your posturing is only making this drag out far longer than necessary. If you would just answer the questions…"

"You can't, can you? You can't tell him no. I don't know why you think I'm any more capable of stopping Sherlock when he's in one of his moods any better than you can."

"Children and my brother do not mix, Dr. Watson. My brother hates children."

"No… I don't think he does. I think he wants you to think he hates children. He was far too good with Mr. Doe here. The only real troubling question is just how long his interest in the child is going to last before he loses interest. Right now the kid is a mystery and a walking conspiracy but the moment Sherlock solves him, he'll move on to the next intrigue."

"Wait… You don't have a name for the kid? And what exactly did you mean that he's a walking conspiracy?"

"No, we don't know his name. He's not seen fit to tell us and his relatives weren't exactly cooperating before they were carted off. As for the conspiracy part, Sherlock is convinced that the kid knew exactly who he was before he was even properly introduced and that he knows things that he couldn't possibly know. Of course, the kid could have just been channeling Sherlock at the time the way he deduced Anderson and told Sherlock off for making a mistake regarding the case."

"Sherlock made a mistake? On a case? What kind of a mistake?" Mycroft demanded in a commanding tone that John couldn't help but answer without any of the usual bluster on his part.

"The number of suspects involved. The kid fingered the man's cleaning woman whom the son had purportedly been having an affair with on the side; if what the kid said was true. He also gave a less than perfect description of the getaway vehicle and a potential motive; robbery. Mr. Roberts, the son, was an avid collector of antiques; a number of which have potentially gone missing around the time Mrs. Roberts's was murdered."

"The child is blind; how did he see anything?"

"You're guess is as good as mine but I was standing right there when he rattled off an exact list of what Anderson was wearing tonight; including a recent tear in his jacket. He also ratted him out for skiving off on his duties earlier this afternoon."

"Are you certain my brother didn't put him up to it?"

"Positive; Sherlock was far too… not surprised but intrigued by the things the kid said this evening. He would have been far smugger if he'd been the one to set Anderson up to take a fall. He enjoys gloating far too much to let another take credit for his work."

"I want to question the boy before he goes home with you. How long do you think it will be until he wakes?"

"I don't know. I expected him to wake up and panic at some point during his tests but he never did. Sherlock said he was utterly exhausted earlier though and if the kid had been having a hard time of it since he'd witnessed the murder, then he is probably more than just merely tired from the night's excitement. He must have been completely exhausted and for Sherlock to have not only noticed it but commented on it…"

"Then it was serious indeed, Sherlock is not one to promote a good night's rest for one who is merely tired. Sherlock would forgo sleep altogether if he could survive."

"Oh he has… frequently for days at a time. It drives me spare sometimes and I have often contemplated the benefits of keeping tranquilizers on hand for just such occasions if I didn't fear that he'd doctor their contents and use them on me for the sake of one of his experiments instead."

"Yes, Sherlock does so dearly love irony. I expect you to contact me the moment the child wakes. I will speak with him before you take him home or I will be most cross."

"No."

"I beg your pardon."

"He is a child, not a criminal, and I will no sooner allow you to interrogate him as if he was a prisoner (which is how his relatives treated him, I might add) than I will allow your brother to conduct his experiments in the presence of a child."

"And yet you still wonder why I expect you to keep my brother in check when necessary, Dr. Watson," Mycroft intoned as he began walking across the room towards the exit. "You are still the only human alive that has told him no and meant it. More than once, I might add. Call me when the child has been cleared for a cordial discussion; I'll bring a cake."

"Don't bother, brother; the kid will think you're trying to poison him," Sherlock interjected as he opened the door and stepped into the room. "Bring him a proper music box instead; preferably one with an older piece of music – something soothing in nature but not a lullaby and make certain you avoid any that have _Die Moldau_. His reaction to that particular piece was rather violent; though if you can find a complete recording of Smetana's _Má Vlast_ it might be worth it to see if it's the composer's work that triggers the reaction or just that specific piece. And don't bother purchasing ones that are girly in nature. He is a boy; he needs something practical."

"Aren't you supposed to be cleaning our flat?" John demanded with a trace of irritation, intentionally ignoring Sherlock's plans to conduct an experiment using the child; he'd deal with that later when there was less of a chance of Sherlock deflecting the matter due to Mycroft's presence.

"I've already moved all of my experiments out. Mrs. Hudson then shooed me out the door when she caught me cleaning the rest of the sitting room. Something about the dust I was kicking up causing her allergies to act up."

"Since when do music boxes and practical even belong in the same sentence, Sherlock?" Mycroft inquired once Sherlock had finished answering John's question.

"When a single song draws a strong enough reaction that it causes an apparently happy and excited child to vomit upon hearing the first half dozen notes and then has him begging for someone to stop it so he doesn't have to see the blood. I want to know what kinds of reactions other songs will produce."

"So play him a piece or two on your violin," Mycroft dryly retorted.

"I intend to but I can hardly play at the same time as I'm trying to deduce the child's thought processes. I need to observe him undistracted so that I can see what it is in the music that affects him so. Of course, I could always bring him to your place and let him tickle the ivories for a bit and see how he reacts to creating his own music."

"That's conspiracy theory number three surrounding the boy, Mycroft; you might want to make note of it because I'm sure it will come up again," John helpfully pointed out as the older Holmes brother did his level best not to roll his eyes at his younger brother.

"Number three? What was number two? And my piano is off limits to you and any of your harebrained ideas; you already know that, Sherlock."

"Oh, that was the real kicker; Sherlock thinks the kid snuck into his Mind Palace and read his thoughts when the kid was insulting Anderson."

"That's not possible," Mycroft stated with dead certainty.

"I never said I bought any of his outlandish theories…" John began to retort only for Mycroft to cut him off.

"No, that is not possible. No child would have enough control to pull off something of that nature. A hidden adult, yes, but no mere child could pull select thoughts from another's mind; except Sherlock but he doesn't count."

Mycroft then strode over to the child's bed before Sherlock or John could cut him off and pulled the sheets down enough to see the child's face; which had been half hidden beneath the covers when the boy had curled up on his side at some point after being brought into the room. He then reached out to brush the boy's fringe clear of his forehead and sucked in a sharp breath as he saw something he recognized. The older Holmes then dropped one hand down to gently peel back one of the child's eyelids. The moment he got a good look at the child's sightless green eye, the blood drained from Mycroft's face before it was suffused with an angry red.

"Anthea, tell Fudge he has exactly twenty-four hours to cough up a location for Harry Potter or heads will roll. If this child is who I think he is, heads are going to roll anyway. Sherlock, what were the full names of the former guardians?"

"Alleged guardians; there is no record of the couple ever filing for custody of a second child. The woman's name is Petunia Dursley née Evans born on January sixteenth, nineteen-fifty-seven to Gregory and Rose Evans. The man's name is Vernon Dursley born on November seventeenth, nineteen-fifty-six to Victor and Eleanor Dursley. They married on April fifteenth, nineteen-seventy-seven. Petunia would then give birth to Dudley Dursley on June twenty-third, nineteen-seventy-nine."

"Siblings?"

"Two; the first is Lily Evans born on January thirtieth, nineteen-sixty to Gregory and Rose Evans and the second is Marjorie Dursley born on September twenty-ninth, nineteen-fifty-one to Victor and Eleanor Dursley."

"What other information do you have on the Evans's second child?"

"She vanished from all records during the summer of nineteen-seventy-one until her marriage to one James Potter (who himself doesn't exist) on August twenty-sixth, nineteen-seventy-eight. Both Lily and James Potter would then disappear again until their purported death in a gas explosion on October thirty-first, nineteen-eighty-one. There were no known records of the couple ever producing a child during their short marriage but the boy would be of the proper age; if those were his parents and the child did acknowledge Petunia as his aunt, though it is uncertain whether or not that was a fabrication on the woman's part."

"Son-of-a-bitch, Dumbledore; you're a bloody old fool and an absolute nuisance," Mycroft swore as he swept out of the room without another word with his assistant scurrying out on his heels.

John and Sherlock stared at one another for ten seconds in shock over Mycroft losing his composure long enough to actually swear out loud before Sherlock darted off after his brother in order to pump the older man for every last trace of information he potentially had on the currently unnamed child.

John, in the meantime, made his way to the child's bedside to stare down at the boy's delicate features as he thought to himself; _Maybe Sherlock isn't too far off with his whacked out conspiracy theories, after all._ He then chuckled to himself when he realized that he'd actually managed to come out of an encounter with Mycroft ahead of the game for once. _Best not get used to that feeling,_ John firmly told himself. _Managing either of the Holmes brothers is never that easy two days in a row._

An hour later, John found himself being escorted through the front door of St. Bartholomew's Hospital by a pair of Mycroft's suited stooges as he once again carried the still sleeping child that Sherlock had found. Stooge one also carried a large box that contained every single last scrap of information the hospital staff had collected on the child along with any and all extra samples that had been taken from the child during the course of his exams. Mycroft had ordered that no trace of the child be left behind after he had called and ordered John to check the boy out immediately and get him out of there.

John was irritated by Mycroft's highhandedness but at the same time he didn't raise a stink because while Mycroft might be an annoying prick, he was damned good at what he did. And if Mycroft didn't think that the child would be safe in a public hospital, then chances were the child would be attacked if not removed immediately. The complimentary stooges were a bit much though; he never felt comfortable with the strong silent types that towered over him. Sherlock at least was in his face with his antisocial tendencies while the stooges were silent shadows that popped up randomly.

Shaking his head over the silly direction his thoughts had drifted (it was well after midnight now and he was exhausted after having spent the entire day chasing about after Sherlock and elusive clues); John did his best to clear his mind. Two minutes later, he was ensconced in one of Mycroft's sleek black sedans and he was headed towards Baker St by way of the scenic route. John half dozed through most of the ride with the child, who was once more wrapped up in Sherlock's trench coat, curled up on his lap.

When they finally pulled up in front of 221B on Baker's street, John was more than ready to call it a day. His shoulder and his leg were killing him but he chose to ignore both as he slid out of the car with the boy still in his arms and made his way up to entrance of the building. A sleepy murmur of complaint from the child in his arms had him checking to make certain the boy was fine before he began digging for his keys. Just as he remembered that Sherlock currently had his set of keys because the man had lost his again, the door opened up from the inside to reveal yet another black suited stooge.

"Thank you, Number Three; please be certain to take the package from Number One – it is important and if Mycroft wants copies he can come collect them himself _after_ I have read through the reports and test results so I am fully aware of what I am treating on the fly here without the proper facilities," John ordered all in one breath as he ducked beneath the stooge's arm to slip inside the building. "You can bring it up to mine and Sherlock's shared flat before you go back to installing whatever state-of-the-art stalking equipment Mycroft ordered you to install tonight."

"Funny man, I suppose I should thank you from not naming us after annoying cartoon characters like Sherlock usually does," Number Three rumbled with a chuckle as he accepted the box of medical reports and specimens from Number One. "It gets kind of repetitive when he calls us all Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum or by the more annoying names of Disney's Seven Dwarves from Snow White."

"Yeah, kind of takes away your identity when he doesn't even bother to name you individually. I'm lucky; he actually remembers my name when he isn't just calling me by my professional title. Makes me wonder if I should invest in a police box and paint it blue so that I can have my very own Tardis to go along with the name."

The so named Number Three just laughed as the two of them stepped into the almost unrecognizable sitting room of his and Sherlock's shared flat. Even the seat cushions of both chairs and the couch had been freshly beaten to remove the years' worth of dust that had been ground into the fabric. The entire flat smelled freshly aired out and John just knew he'd have to do something to thank Mrs. Hudson for all her hard work. He supposed Sherlock deserved a measure of credit as well since there wasn't a single experiment in sight and all of the weapons that had formerly decorated the room were missing; including John's collection of vintage ammunition casings.

Sherlock's human skull was still sitting in the center of the mantel and the bison skull (and attached headphones) was still hung on the wall between the two windows that overlooked Baker Street but the rest of the clutter was gone. Several of Sherlock's bookshelves had even been moved out; though where the man had put them on such short notice was a tad worrisome. He desperately hoped the man hadn't just shoved everything into his bedroom. The room actually looked rather bare now despite the fact that an additional chair had joined the pair that graced the dinner table.

"Where did you want me to drop your package, Dr. Watson?" Number Three inquired as he entered the room on John's heels.

"If there's room on my desk to the left of the door you can set it there; if not, just set it on the table and I will deal with it once I've got this young man situated."

"I've left it on your desk, Dr. Watson. If you need me or Number Four, we'll be down in 221C for the rest of the night."

John laughed at the man's humorous response to being dubbed a number of simplicity's sake (since he was too tired to even bother attempting to ask let alone memorize four new names and faces). He then called back, "Thank you, Number Three, good luck on the bugging."

Once he was alone in the flat aside from the child in his arms, John sighed as he contemplated the best place to tuck the child for now. He briefly considered putting him upstairs in his bedroom but quickly discarded the idea as he hadn't yet child proofed his room (he had his ammunition stores and a couple of older revolvers to consider). There was also the fact that his room was rather isolated and if he was in the kitchen when the child woke, then it would take him far too long to reach him; leaving the kid to panic for far too long. In the end, John decided that the safest place to let the child sleep until he was better acquainted with the flat was on the couch in the sitting room.

It was by no means a permanent solution but it would do for the night. Or morning, as the case may be since it was well after two in the morning now. Stifling a yawn, John gently settled the boy on the couch before he bustled about gathering up an extra couple of pillows (two of them for the floor in case the kid rolled off the couch) and blankets. Once he had the kid situated, he wandered over to his desk and began sorting through the box of files and samples from the hospital. He was quick to store the sealed samples in the refrigerator so that they wouldn't go bad and took a second to appreciate the irony of him being the one to place biohazard samples in the refrigerator instead of Sherlock for once.

John would then spend another hour reading through the child's test results and separating out any duplicates so that he could hand one set over to Mycroft when the elder Holmes inevitably turned up on their doorstep. He would eventually fall asleep at his desk before he could finish sorting through everything. He would also wake up some four hours later with a crick in his back and a stiff neck from a combination of sleeping in an awkward position and the chill in the air.

At least he'd woken up before their young guest and saved a pair of innocent little ears from hearing him curse all the way to the bathroom and a hot shower. Once he was not quite so sore, he made a light breakfast and a pot of tea before he returned to the task of going through the child's medical records. After he finished with that, including tucking all of Mycroft's copies into a manila envelope and sealing it, he would spend an hour updating his blog with the little information he felt safe in sharing (which did not include any mention of a witness being found) before he got up to check on the child.

He wondered, briefly, how Sherlock had fared after leaving the hospital (the man had not yet come home as far as he could tell) and if he was still hounding Mycroft for answers or if the man was out causing trouble. He quickly dropped that line of thinking when it occurred to him that if Sherlock was out causing trouble, then Mycroft would be harassing John to hunt him down and bring him to heel. And since the 'British Government' (as Sherlock often teasingly called his brother) wasn't beating down on his door, then he had nothing to worry about. It was actually rather pleasant not to have to worry about babysitting his friend for once.

Of course, he was currently babysitting a potential time bomb in the form of a troubled nine year old but no child could actually be more of a handful than Sherlock, right?

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

* Die Moldau (or The Moldau) was composed by Bedřich Smetana in 1874 as part of Má vlast (My Country or My Homeland) which was comprised of six symphonic poems.


	6. Awkward Awakenings

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Five: Awkward Awakenings<span>

_Sunday, November 05, 1989 10:13 A.M.  
>221B Baker Street, London, England<em>

Harry burrowed deeper into his covers as he tried to hold onto the pleasant dream he'd been having. Good dreams had been few and far between throughout his life and this one had been the best. This particular dream he had been having had been a dream of his greatest wish finally coming true; someone had come to take him away from the Dursleys. He'd actually had a similar dream a time or two in the past but Aunt Petunia always shook him awake and dragged him out of bed before the dream reached the part where he actually left the Dursleys so she could rush him into the bathroom before the sun rose each morning.

His aunt always did have the worst sense of timing; cutting into his happy dreams, interrupting him when he's using the Namelessness to explore and map out the town, and always making him wait until his bladder is near bursting to let him use the bathroom after the sunset.

As soon as that final thought crossed his mind, Harry became aware of the fact that his bladder was full. He tried to ignore it but now that he knew he had to pee, it was kind of hard to ignore the not-quite-yet-painful tightness of his bladder. He let out a petulant sigh and a near silent whine of annoyance as the last vestiges of his dream vanished. He then pulled his covers, which were far warmer and softer than he remember them being, closer as he listened for the sound of his aunt's footsteps approaching his closet to let him out for his morning bathroom break.

After several minutes had passed, Harry began feeling uneasy when his aunt still hadn't arrived to let him out. He knew she was still angry with him about throwing up in the closet and about his one attempt to tell her who killed Mrs. Roberts but she never missed letting him out for his morning bathroom breaks; she just wouldn't let him linger in the bathroom afterwards like she sometimes did when he wasn't grounded. He began digging his way clear of the blankets so they wouldn't muffle the sounds of the house when he suddenly caught a strong whiff of old tobacco and smoke.

Harry froze for a long moment after registering the relatively new scent; trying to remember where and when he'd smelt it before. He then took a deep breath to see if maybe he'd just imagined the scent of smoke and tobacco only to find that he couldn't recognize any of the scents beneath the still strong scent of smoke. All thoughts of his full bladder fled as he began to panic over the absence of the strong scent of chemical cleaners his aunt used and the sickeningly sweet and cloying scent of her cheep perfumes or his uncle's strong cologne.

Scrambling at the now confining blankets covering him, which themselves smelled nothing of the mustiness that had clung to his closet or his own scent (which was itself a combination of dust, mildew, and lye soap), Harry fought to get his head clear. The moment he pulled the last of the blankets clear of his face, his ears and nose were assaulted with a rush of unfamiliar scents and sounds and he couldn't help but let out a startled cry.

He could hear hundreds of cars, the cries of unfamiliar people yelling at one another, doors opening and closing, dogs barking, horns honking, and a hundred other sounds he didn't immediately recognize. And the smells! The air was thick with the choking scent of car exhaust, tobacco smoke, leather, furniture polish, unfamiliar chemicals, slightly burnt toast, a mixture of unfamiliar colognes, and pine scented air freshener.

Wanting to escape from the clash of sound and unfamiliar scents, he turned in the direction he'd normally turn when getting out of bed and ran face first into a soft wall without any warning. Crying out again, he threw himself backwards and felt his entire world tilt as he kept falling right off of whatever it was that he'd been sleeping on. The fall was more than twice the height of the distance between his bed and the floor and he hit the ground rather hard; landing half on and half off of a pillow. Rolling over, he crawled sideways only to knock into an unfamiliar piece of furniture that tumbled over with a loud crash that only added to his fright.

Harry threw himself away from the object and scrambled up onto his feet only to get his feet tangled up in the pillow he'd landed on earlier. For the second time in the less than a minute, Harry found himself crashing to the floor and he felt the urge to scream as his right elbow hit the floor hard. The only thing stopping him was the fear that someone would hear him; as if anyone could have missed the multiple loud crashes he'd caused since waking. Rolling back over, Harry cradled his jarred elbow close to his body and let out a whimper as he tried to figure out where he was and how he'd gotten there. It was at that point that he registered the sound of rushed footsteps rapidly growing louder.

Terrified now, Harry pushed himself back to his feet once more and darted away from the pillow he'd tripped over only to run into what felt like a cushioned chair. He bounced off the chair and spun around to try a different direction only to trip over the piece of furniture he'd knocked over earlier and crash into a wooden chair. He then knocked his already bruised elbow on the floor a second time before he hit his head on the leg of a sturdy table. Frustration cut through his fright and he finally gave voice to the scream he'd been holding back as he curled in on himself so he could clutch both his throbbing elbow and his poor head.

"Hold on, kid, I'm coming! I should have known you'd wake up the instant that I started reorganizing my room."

Harry didn't immediately recognize the voice and his fear drove him up onto his hands and knees so he could find a place to hide from whoever it was that was rushing towards him. He crashed into another chair, hit another table leg, twisted his wrist on a rug that slid out from under him, and smacked his head on another piece of furniture before he found a small alcove to hide himself away in. And he still couldn't read any of the scents or sounds he sensed because there was nothing familiar in the air and his panic prevented from even thinking of using the Namelessness to see where he was.

"Oh dear," the voice declared as the man finally reached the room that Harry was in. "It looks like you've had a rather adventurous morning already." Harry cut off a whimper and pushed himself further back into his hiding place as he heard slow footsteps move across the floor before he heard the sounds of the furniture he'd knocked over being righted. "I apologize for not being here when you woke up; I am certain you must have been quite frightened to find yourself all alone in a strange place. You don't have to be afraid though, child; I'm not going to hurt you."

"Who are you?" Harry bravely demanded in a tremulous voice.

"I'm John Watson; I'm the doctor that looked you over yesterday," the voice, Dr. Watson, replied as the footsteps stopped beside his hiding place. "Do you remember what happened yesterday?"

Harry ignored the question to ask one of his own, "Where am I?"

"You are in the sitting room of the apartment that I share with my friend, Sherlock Holmes; he's the one that found you yesterday. You're actually sitting under Sherlock's desk right now."

"Why did you bring me here? What do you want with me?"

"We only want to help you; we aren't going to hurt you. We brought you here to protect you, Sherlock insisted on it. He is quite… fascinated with you," Dr. Watson replied from just a few feet away from where Harry was hiding. "Do you remember what happened yesterday? Or did you need me to help you remember?"

Harry tried to recall what had happened yesterday but the unfamiliar noises and sounds made it difficult to think and so instead of answering the man's questions he again asked another question, "Why is it so loud and noisy here?"

"That's because we're in the middle of London and there are a lot of people who live and work here. Does the noise bother you?"

"It's too loud. I can't think. And it smells. Everything is so different."

"I should imagine so; the town you lived in before was rather small when compared to London. Give me a moment, let me see if I can't find something you can use to help you block out some of the sounds until you grow more comfortable with the level of noises here in the city. Ah, that's the ticket there."

Harry listened as Dr. Watson crossed the room and messed with something before his footsteps returned to Harry's little alcove. The nine year old heard the man's knees crack loudly as he squatted down in front of Harry before he began speaking once more, "Do you think you can scoot just a bit closer to me, lad? I have a set of headphones here that you can wear for now. They won't stop all of the sound but they should at least bring it down to a tolerable level."

Harry hesitated for a brief moment before the loud screech of tires sliding across pavement followed by the loud crunch of two vehicles slamming together had him covering his ears in pain. He'd heard cars crashing together before but the sound had not been quite so close or loud all those other times. The offer of protection from the racket was enough for him to set aside his current mistrust of the stranger whose home he was currently in (he hadn't really tried to remember what had happened to him yet). Harry uncurled himself enough to scooch forward several inches and tip his head closer to the doctor.

"Thank you; now hold still a moment, my hands and the headphones might be a tad cold."

"From the ice you keep in your pockets…?" Harry tentatively asked as he felt the man slide something onto his head; the warning about cold hands tickling his memory. A heartbeat later, the flood of noise assaulting his ears dimmed to a dull roar as the headphones slid down over his ears.

Dr. Watson chuckled and ruffled Harry's hair as he replied, "Yes, cold hands help me make certain my patients stay awake on top of giving them something to complain about during their examinations. Now, is there anything else I can do to help make you more comfortable? Come to think of it, are you in any pain? Did you injure yourself earlier when you were stumbling about?"

"I'm fine," Harry automatically replied as he tentatively scented the air once more; his hurts already forgotten as the Namelessness had healed them shortly after they had happened. "It still smells in here though."

"That's a relief; I'd hate to think my moment of inattentiveness resulted in you being hurt. As for the smell, I'm afraid there's not much I can do there, since it probably smells worse outside thanks to the traffic. I suppose we could plug your nose with a clothes pin but that would probably be uncomfortable. At least it doesn't smell as bad as it did before Mrs. Hudson aired the flat out last night."

"Who's Mrs. Hudson?" Harry asked before he was abruptly reminded of his need to pee as his bladder finally reached the point where it was starting to hurt to hold it in. "And may I have permission to use the toilet? I can't hold it much longer."

"Ah, hold on; I'll pick you up and carry you to the bathroom – it'll be faster that way," Dr. Watson stated as he reached out, scooped Harry up, pulled him out from under the desk, and began carrying him across the room. He squirmed a bit in response to both being held by the still rather unfamiliar man and because of the added pressure the new position placed on his bladder. "And to answer your other question, Mrs. Hudson is our landlady; she owns the building we live in. She's also a dear friend. I'll introduce you to her a bit later. Speaking of introductions, could you please tell me your name? I'm certain you'd rather not be called child, kid, or hey you all the time."

"Which name…?" Harry asked as he tensed a bit; wondering whether the man wanted to know one of the names that the Dursleys had called him or if he wanted to know the name that he vaguely remembered an old cat lady calling him back before The Darkness.

"You have more than one name?"

"Did you want to know what my aunt and uncle called me or… or did you want to know my other name?"

"How about you tell me the name your parents gave you, if you know what it is. If not, you can just tell me the name you wish me to call you."

"I don't know if my other name is the one my… my parents gave me but it's the only one I like and the old cat lady used to call me that name."

"What name is that?" Dr. Watson prompted after Harry trialed off.

Harry canted his head to one side and listened really hard for any indication that any one else was listening (he'd never shared his other name with anyone else and he felt rather self conscious about sharing it even now). Once he felt certain it was just the two of them, he whispered, "Harry James Potter. I like the name Harry best. It feels like me."

"Well, Harry, it is a pleasure to finally meet you properly and I think Harry is a fine name. I have an older sister named Harriet and she too prefers to be called Harry," Dr. Watson replied in a warm tone that made Harry feel just a little better about sharing his other name. "We can continue our conversation in a little bit now that we've reached the bathroom."

He was then unexpectedly set down on his feet (his toes automatically curling into the thick, soft rug he'd been set on) before the doctor took hold of his right hand and placed it on a cold surface as he continued speaking, "This is the sink counter, if you walk straight forward you will reach the toilet. Four steps to your left is the tub. The toilet paper is kept on a roll on the side of the counter closest to the toilet and hand towels are kept on the opposite end. The bar of soap sits in a small dish on the left side of the sink and the bottle of liquid soap sits on the right side of the sink. And finally, the door is directly behind you and the door opens inward with the knob on the left side of the door as you face it."

"Okay," Harry murmured as he tried to remember where everything was.

"I will be waiting for you just outside the door. Please don't hesitate to call me if you need any help or if you can't remember where something is."

"Okay."

Harry stayed right where he'd been set down until he heard the muted sound of the door closing behind him. He then slowly made his way forward toward where Dr. Watson had told him the toilet was sitting while keeping one hand on the sink counter. The doctor's behavior actually confused him; his aunt had never taken the time to tell him where anything was. She had either just dragged or pushed him where she wanted him to go or shoved things into his hands and told him what to do. After he'd finally learned how to use the Namelessness to see for him, things had been much easier.

He was tempted to call on the Namelessness now but he was too afraid. He also didn't know if he'd be allowed to use the Namelessness now since he still believed that Mr. Holmes could also use the Namelessness while his relatives hadn't even known the Namelessness existed. He'd never told them about the Namelessness because he had instinctively known that they would have forbidden him from using it. Not that they would have listened to him in the first place; they hadn't liked it when he spoke, after all.

As he reached the end of the counter, Harry searched the area in front of him with his left hand until he felt the cool porcelain of the toilet beneath his hands. He then dropped his pants and sat down (it was hard to aim when you couldn't see, after all) and let out a sigh of relief as he finally emptied his bladder. Once he was finished, he waited just a moment longer to make certain his bladder was completely emptied (since he didn't know when he'd be allowed to use the bathroom again) before he wiped himself and flushed the toilet. Harry then stood up and pulled up his pants before he took hold of the counter once more and let his left hand slide across the surface so he could find the sink.

Turning on the faucet was fairly easy while finding the bar of soap was a bit harder since he wasn't sure how far away from the sink it was kept. He eventually found it though and dipped it under the stream of water along with his hands before he worked up a light lather. He then set the bar in the bottom of the sink and scrubbed his hands before he rinsed the suds from both his hands and the soap before replacing the bar in the dish he'd taken it from. After that, he carefully rinsed his hands a second time and rinsed out the sink basin so as not to leave a mess.

Just as he turned off the water and shook out the excess drops from his hands, there was a knock on the door before Dr. Watson called out, "Are you almost finished, Harry?"

"Yes, sir; I just need to dry my hands."

"Take your time, there's no need to rush; I just wanted to check on you."

Harry sent a slight frown in the direction of Dr. Watson's voice in response to the man's rather contradictory statement since the only reason he knew for the man to check on him was to tell him to hurry up; at least, that was why his aunt always checked on him. Shaking away his slight confusion, Harry used his left elbow to guide him as he moved towards the end of the counter (so as not to leave water on the counter with his wet hands – Aunt Petunia had always hated it when he left water on the counter).

He then carefully felt for the hand towels that Dr. Watson had told him were kept there. He soon found them and made quick work of drying off his hands. He then found himself a bit lost as he tried to recall where Dr. Watson had told him the door was.

"Dr. Watson…?"

"What is it, Harry?"

"I don't remember where you said the door was."

"Are you still standing by the sink?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, if you stand with your left side next to the sink, the door is going to be about two or three steps in front of you. I'm standing right outside of the door, so you can use my voice as a guide if you need to. Did you wish to try and find the door on your own or would you like me to come in and help you out?"

"I can do it now. I just couldn't remember which way to go."

"That's quite alright, lad."

Holding both hands out in front of him, Harry carefully walked forward (jumping a bit when his bare feet encountered the cold floor the moment he stepped off the rug) until his hands bumped into the door. He then slid them out sideways along the wood until he encountered the door handle on the left side. Opening the door was a cinch after that, though he did almost trip over the bathroom rug when he stepped backwards.

"All done, sir," Harry announced as he tilted his head back and forth in an effort to listen for the doctor.

"Good job, Harry. If you'll give me your left hand, then I will guide you back to the sitting room."

Harry complied with the request after a slight hesitation and soon felt Dr. Watson's much larger hand engulfing his hand in his. The man then oddly (at least in Harry's mind it was odd) began describing the area they were standing in before he actually led Harry forward.

"Right now we are in a small, hallway landing at the head of the stairs leading down to the ground floor. The hallway is rather short and leads right into the stairs, so please be extra careful when navigating through here when you are alone. If you hold your right hand out, you will encounter an old freestanding cupboard; you can use that cupboard as a guide to help you remember where the door to our flat is located since our door comes right after it and the stairs are only two steps beyond the door."

"The door handle to our door is on the right side and the door opens inwards towards the flat. So long as Sherlock or I are home, we leave this door unlocked. If we are not home and you find yourself locked outside of our flat, Mrs. Hudson has a spare key and her flat can be found on the right hand side at the bottom of the stairs. Just beyond Mrs. Hudson's door, there is another short set of steps leading down into the basement where there is another flat. The main exit of the building can be found just beyond the basement stairs and leads out onto Baker Street."

By the time he'd finished explaining all of that, Dr. Watson had opened the door to his flat and led Harry inside. The man then continued his verbal tour as he gently pulled Harry to a stop.

"The room we are in now is our sitting room; it is also the room you woke up in. Directly to your left you will find my desk and the coat rack. Along the left hand wall, there is a small bookcase where I keep a few of my personal things. Next to the bookshelf is one of two windows that overlook Baker Street and situated between the windows there is another bookcase holding my books. The second window and the far left hand corner of the room are sectioned off by a curtain; that is Sherlock's private area and the door to his bedroom is through there."

"There is a small loveseat facing the window on the other side of the curtain that you will want to watch out for if Sherlock invites you into his area. It is best not to enter that part of the room unless you have permission from Sherlock though, as there are times when he prefers to be left alone. That brings us to the other side of the room. To the right of the door, there is a large vacant area where Sherlock's work table and a couple of bookshelves used to sit. Then, in the center of the right wall, there is another window in front of which sits Sherlock's desk; which is where you had been hiding earlier."

"On the other side of Sherlock's desk, there is a low bookshelf that holds some of Sherlock's things. On top of that bookshelf, you will find the telephone. Sherlock also frequently sets his violin to the left of the phone. Beside the shelf there is another freestanding cupboard that holds Sherlock's scrapbooks. That brings us to the back wall where you will find the staircase leading upstairs to my bedroom and a spare room that we use for storage. Directly beside the staircase is an open doorway that leads into the kitchen. Centered between the kitchen threshold and Sherlock's bedroom door there is a large fireplace bracketed by yet another pair of bookshelves."

"Sitting on the floor right in front of the fireplace there is a large bearskin rug and arranged around both the rug and the fireplace there are two armchairs and the couch where you slept last night. On the left side of the couch is a small tea table; the same one that you accidentally knocked over when you first woke up. Not far from the couch and even with Sherlock's desk is our dining room table with three chairs set around it; which you also encountered this morning. Now, I realize that is a lot of information for you to remember and that it will take some time for you to learn where every this is; so please don't be afraid to ask for help if you ever feel like you are lost."

"Okay," Harry breathed with a sigh relief because he had already forgotten where half of the items that Dr. Watson had mentioned were sitting.

"I think we'll leave the guided tour of the rest of the rooms for later. Right now, I'm going to sit you at the table while I go fix you an early lunch since you slept straight through breakfast. The only reason why I didn't wake you up to eat was because I thought you needed the extra rest after the rather stressful night you had last night. Is there anything in particular that you'd like me to make you?"

"I don't know… Aunt Petunia only ever fed me sandwiches after they put me in the closet."

"Do you like sandwiches, Harry?" Dr. Watson inquired as he helped Harry into a chair before he pushed the chair in close to the table.

"No. Well, I liked the cheese sandwiches when the cheese didn't taste old and she let me have a bit of butter on the bread but I never liked the other sandwiches she made for me; they were always dry and made from liverwurst or tuna."

"I will keep that in mind when planning our meals. In the mean time, would you like to have a bowl of soup?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Alright, wait here and I will fetch you a glass of milk and some crackers to nibble on while I warm up your soup."

Harry listened to the doctor walk away before he pulled his legs up into the chair so he could wrap his arms around his knees while he tried to puzzle things out. He was still far too confused to think straight though; the unfamiliar environment and Dr. Watson's behavior both throwing him off balance because the man was treating him like the people in Blackmore had treated each other. He'd never had anyone treat him so nicely before – not even before he'd been trapped inside of The Darkness; though the cat lady had come close.

Part of him wondered if maybe this was just part of a fantastic dream and that any minute now he'd wake up back in his closet.


	7. Delicate Discussions

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Six: Delicate Discussions<span>

_Sunday, November 05, 1989 10:53 A.M.  
>221B Baker Street, London, England<em>

John swallowed the curses he wanted to voice as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and occupied himself with sending a pair of text messages to Mycroft and Sherlock to let them know that the child had woken up. He also passed along the boy's name; though he was pretty certain that Mycroft, at least, already knew who the child was. The man had no doubt had the flat bugged with the latest spy technology while they had been out yesterday; stooge number three had pretty much confirmed that assumption when he'd finally arrived back home. There was also the fact that Mycroft had apparently recognized the boy's face the previous evening.

Messages sent, John hunted down one of the heavy glass tumblers (which would be harder to knock over if bumped by an errant hand) and filled it half full of milk. Next he grabbed the jar of raspberry preserves, the tub of margarine, the tin of crackers, a placemat, a small sandwich plate, a spoon, and a butter knife. He then carried everything out to the sitting room and set them on the table in front of the chair that Harry was curled up in.

"Alright, I've set your glass of milk in the top right hand corner of the placemat. There is a small plate in the very center of the placemat with a butter knife just to the left. Sitting beside the right hand side of your placemat is a small tub of margarine and an open jar of raspberry preserves with a small spoon already in the jar. Finally, you will find the tin of crackers just above the top left hand corner of your placemat. If you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen preparing your soup."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, Harry," John warmly replied as he ruffled Harry's hair again before retreating to the kitchen; part of him cringing internally when Harry flinched in response to the touch – much as the child had each time he was touched.

He's just pulled down a can of beef and vegetable soup to heat up when his phone chimed at him. Setting the can on the counter, he fished his phone back out of his pocket and opened up the text message he'd just been sent.

_Forget the soup, Dr. Watson; I'm bringing fish and chips. _

Snorting over the further confirmation that the flat had been bugged (for the umpteenth time), John returned the soup to the cupboard before he set about making a large pot of tea. While the water was boiling, he got down enough cups and saucers for five people (since he was half certain that Mrs. Hudson would join them along with Mycroft's assistant) and an old sturdy mug (for Harry). He then filled a small pitcher with cream, topped off the sugar bowl, cut a lemon into neat wedges, dug out the tin of tea biscuits he'd seen in the cupboard, and collected six teaspoons. By that time, the kettle was whistling and he shut the stove off before pouring the hot water into the tea pot and set the tea leaves to steeping.

He was just loading everything onto the tea tray (along with a handful of extra napkins) when he heard the downstairs door open and a number of people start up the stairs. As he carried the tray into the sitting room, he heard Mrs. Hudson call out greetings and mentally kicked himself for leaving Inspector Lestrade out of the loop when he heard the man return the landlady's greeting. He reached the table and set the tray down about the same time as the first of the new arrivals reached the flat; leaving him more than enough time to place a calming hand on Harry's shoulder as the kid jumped in fright as the door swung open to admit five adults.

"It's alright, Harry; you don't have to be afraid of our visitors. I was expecting them, even if they arrived a bit sooner than I anticipated. There has also been a slight change to the menu for lunch; our guests picked up a little something on their way here."

"Hello, dearie; I've been looking forward to meeting you since Sherlock told me all about you last night," Mrs. Hudson declared as she walked forward to place a small tray filled with all kinds of sweets on the table where it would easily be within reach of Harry's short arms.

John pulled Harry's chair out from the table and helped him to his feet (while discreetly checking to make certain the child's hands were free from jam and butter) so he could introduce the boy to everyone, "Harry, this is our landlady, Beatrice Hudson. Mrs. Hudson, this young man is Harry Potter."

"I look forward to getting to know you, Harry," Mrs. Hudson stated as she reached out to take Harry's hand.

John couldn't help but wince when the smile on Mrs. Hudson's face vanished when Harry flinched away from her touch and backed away until he bumped into the chair behind him. Her expression turned sad as she glanced up to meet John's eyes and he mouthed a silent apology. She gave him a pained smile in response before she collected herself.

"Well, it looks like you're about to sit down to eat so I won't keep you; I only wanted to come meet our young guest and to bring up some biscuits."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," John offered as the older woman retreated from the room before he flicked his gaze towards Sherlock who had his eyes trained on Harry.

"Anthea, please set the table," Mycroft ordered the moment the door closed behind the landlady. "Dr. Watson, please do continue with the introductions so that we might get down to business."

"Introductions are unnecessary, he already knows who we are," Sherlock countered as he pushed passed his brother and crouched down in front of Harry to peer deeply into Harry's dead eyes. "What can you tell me about my brother, kid?"

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's antics before he chose to ignore both Holmes brothers and help Harry back into his chair as Anthea deftly finished setting the table and began dishing up the food. He then addressed the obviously nervous child who was undoubtedly confused, "Harry, you can ignore Sherlock's question for now. You need to eat something and the lovely Anthea has just dished up some fish and chips for you and set the new plate in the center of your placemat where your cracker plate was sitting earlier. The plate of crackers you had prepared before our guests arrived, are now sitting off to the left of your placemat and there is a stack of napkins directly below the cracker plate if you need them."

"Who is the other man…?" Harry quietly asked as John pushed the chair closer to the table.

"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade; you met him last night."

"Hello again, young man," Greg offered as he grabbed the chair from Sherlock's desk and sat down across from Harry.

"And the other man who spoke?"

"Ah, that was Sherlock's older brother; Mycroft Holmes."

"Now that we've established everyone's identity, there are a few things that I would like to ask you, Mr. Potter," Mycroft intoned as he sat down in Sherlock's usual seat at the head of the table (much to Sherlock's obvious annoyance).

"No, Mycroft; you are not going to interrogate Harry while he's trying to eat. He hasn't eaten a single thing since we found him yesterday and he doesn't need you distracting him. Harry, please go ahead and start on your food; there's no need to wait on anyone else. If you would like some vinegar, ketchup, or tartar sauce for either your fish or chips, please let me know and I will fetch it for you."

"Yes, sir, Dr. Watson," Harry murmured as he slid his right hand inwards along the placemat until his fingers found the plate.

John then watched the child tentatively explore the two pieces of fish and the handful of chips on the plate before he picked up a chip to sample. When he looked away from Harry to glance at the others, he found Greg unabashedly digging into a piece of fish and occasionally studying Harry over his plate. Mycroft almost looked as if he was sulking as the man watched Harry eat while ignoring the plate Anthea set in front of him. And then there was Sherlock, who had stalked off behind his curtain in a huff after he'd been rebuffed by John in his attempt to test Harry before having his seat stolen by Mycroft.

Shaking his head, John moved away from Harry's chair and dropped down into his usual seat right beside the child. As he dug into his own plate of food, John kept an eye on Harry just in case the child felt too self conscious to ask for something he needed. The next twenty minutes would then be filled with relative silence bar the crinkling of wrappers as additional fish were unwrapped, the soft clinking of cups being set back on their saucers, and the barely heard sounds of chewing and swallowing.

It was at that time that John witnessed the first habit he knew that he was going to have to break Harry of; the boy was furtively trying to wrap up his second piece of fish into a napkin along with half of the fries he'd been given. He either intended to save the food for later thinking this might be all he'd be given to eat or he thought he would get in trouble if he did not finish what was on his plate. Regardless of his intentions; John couldn't have him hoarding or hiding food about the flat least the food attract any number of unsavory pests because he could no longer count on Sherlock's experiments to poison the rats, mice, ants, and cockroaches.

"Harry, please put the food back on your plate. If you are full, we can put your leftovers away in a proper container and keep them in the refrigerator so that they do not go bad or attract pests. If you get hungry later, you will be more than welcome to eat them at that time."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you. Now, are you actually full or were you just planning to save that for later?"

"Full; the lady who doesn't talk gave me too much."

"That's fine; we will not force you to eat everything on your plate if it will only make you sick. I will, however, ask you to finish your milk; you need the calcium. Later this afternoon, I will show you where to find the refrigerator and we can set aside a shelf where you can keep your personal leftovers so that you can always find them."

"Okay."

"Dr. Watson, now that everyone has eaten, may we please get down to business?" Mycroft demanded in a cordial tone that held just the slightest trace of sarcasm.

Before John could give the man an answer, Harry showed a trace of the boldness he'd displayed the night before as he corrected the elder Mycroft, "That's not true; Mr. Holmes and the silent lady didn't eat."

"I assure you that I did enjoy a nice selection of fish and Anthea ate on the way here," Mycroft countered smoothly but not before John had caught the slight look of surprise that had passed across his face over being corrected by the child.

"Not you, I know you ate. The other Mr. Holmes didn't eat. He's been reading behind the curtain the whole time."

"How do you know Sherlock has been reading?"

"I could hear him turning the pages of a book."

"But how did you know he is actually reading and not just flipping through the pages?"

"He paused after he turned each page and dragged his finger down the pages twice before turning the next page."

"Remarkable; and he was one hundred percent correct on his deduction!" Sherlock crowed as he snapped the book he'd been reading shut and stuck his head out from behind the curtain.

"Or it was simply a lucky guess," Mycroft insisted sagely as he eyed his brother before his attention was drawn to Harry who had made a soft sound of indignant protest over the implied dismissal of his claim that he had known that Sherlock was reading. The elder Holmes brother then returned his attention to John and asked, "Your answer, Dr. Watson?"

"Harry, Mycroft is going to be asking you some questions. We'd like you to answer as many of them as you can. If you don't know the answer, that is fine, but please don't tell any fibs."

"And you are to ignore any rules your aunt and uncle gave you regarding what you are and are not allowed to speak about," Sherlock added as he fully entered the main part of the room and strode towards the table, picking up the wicker chair that usually faced the fireplace on the way before he settled himself halfway between Greg and Mycroft where he would have a clear view of Harry's face.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied nervously as he drew his legs up in the chair before pointing his face in Mycroft's general direction.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. I'll try to keep this as brief as possible," Mycroft replied as he leaned forward. "First, can you tell me the names of your mother and father?"

"No."

"No…? Do you not know their names or do you not wish to tell me?"

"I don't know."

"Can you tell me what you do know about your parents?"

Harry's face cycled through countless emotions far too quickly for John to catalog them all before he tucked his chin against his chest, took a deep breath, and recited a short list of insults (that he'd probably heard a thousand times) in a dead voice, "My parents were penniless and irresponsible layabouts; my father was a drunken bully with a nasty mean streak and my mother was a no good slag with an empty head. My parents died in a drunken car crash when I was still a baby and left Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon with the burden of raising me."

"Did your aunt and uncle tell you that?" Greg asked when Mycroft didn't immediately ask his next question.

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Potter, you need to forget everything you just told us about your parents," Mycroft finally stated as he tapped the table once. "Every single word your aunt and uncle told you about your parents is a lie; bar the fact that they died when you were still a very young child."

"Do you know who my parents were, Mr. Holmes?" Harry asked as he snapped his head up to stare in Mycroft's direction with what John would describe as a hungry look.

"Yes," Mycroft and Sherlock both replied in unison and John ducked his face to hide a grin when the two brothers started and eyed one another with barely disguised disgruntlement.

"Yes," Mycroft repeated once he recovered his aplomb. "Your father was Lord James Potter, former heir to the small dukedom of Lyonesse. Your father's family was both part of the nobility and quite wealthy. I also happen to know that he worked for the government as part of a Special Forces unit that hunted terrorists. Your mother, on the hand, was Lady Lily Potter née Evans and while her background is no where near as illustrious as your fathers, she came from a good family, her parents were outstanding individuals at least, and was a very intelligent woman. She did not have a career but I do know that she was working towards the equivalent of a doctorate in two rather obscure fields."

"Really…?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"Yes."

Harry looked especially pleased to hear that his parents were such special people (not necessarily that his father's family was rich) before a confused look appeared on his face; his nose wrinkling up as he asked, "If that is true… then why did Aunt Petunia lie to me?"

"To cause you pain, child," Mycroft stated bluntly in a soft tone that did nothing to lesson the cruel truth and Harry flinched in response before he nodded once and John wondered if the boy had just recalled other instances where his aunt had been intentionally cruel to him. "Was there anything else you'd like to ask me about your parents before I ask my next question, Mr. Potter?"

"Do you know how they died…?"

"Yes; they were murdered by the leader of a group of terrorists that your father was trying to help stop."

This time Harry went completely still as the blood drained from his face before he whispered out a haunted, "The green light. The green light really did take mummy. And then _he_ laughed."

Silence filled the room for several minutes as all of the adults watched the child with various degrees of pity and sadness when Harry curled up in on himself and shook with what John suspected were silent sobs. John hesitated for a moment before he slid his chair closer to the boy and reached out to gently touch Harry's back in a silent offer of comfort. Harry fell still and tensed up the moment his hand touched the boy but he didn't attempt to shrug off his hand so John slowly began rubbing small circles on the child's back until he relaxed.

"Would you like me to pour you cup of tea, Harry?" John asked a few minutes later when he felt Harry shift under his hand a bit.

"Yes, please," Harry replied after a slight hesitation as he slowly uncurled to reveal red rimmed eyes and faint tear tracks glinting on his cheeks.

"Would you like cream and sugar?"

"No thank you but may I have a lemon wedge instead, please?"

"Yes, of course."

Mycroft surprisingly waited until Harry had both of his hand firmly wrapped around the mug of warm tea before he cleared his throat and gently (for Mycroft anyway) asked, "Do you remember where you lived before the Dursleys moved to Blackmore, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, I lived in the cupboard under the stairs of Number Four Privet Drive."

Sherlock's elbow slipped off the arm of his chair in response to that answer and John didn't need to hear his friend's thoughts to know he was cursing the Dursleys in his mind. The man had been extremely upset about the closet they'd found the boy in last night but to hear he'd never had a proper room obviously struck a sour chord with the self-professed sociopath. Not that John was any happier about that revelation.

"Were you ever allowed out of your… cupboard?" Mycroft asked; the slight pause before the word cupboard and the way the man had said the word cupboard indicated that the elder Holmes had also been displeased to learn about the location of Harry's previous room.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia let me out to do my chores and she sometimes sent me to stay with the cat lady when she didn't want me underfoot like when Uncle Vernon took Aunt Petunia and Dudley places."

"Will you tell me about the kinds of chores your aunt had you do?"

"I washed the windows, scrubbed the floors, dusted the furniture legs, washed the baseboards, scrubbed the tub, weeded the flowerbeds, and dried the dishes."

"What chores did your cousin have to do?" Sherlock asked in a bored tone that was at odds with the intense look on his face.

"None."

"What happened if you didn't do your chores when you were supposed to?" Mycroft inquired as Sherlock let out a near silent scoff of disgust that told John the man had already known that the older child hadn't been required to do any chores.

"I got in trouble."

"And how were you punished when you ended up in trouble?"

"Aunt Petunia always spanked me and locked me in my cupboard."

"What did your uncle do?"

"He yelled a lot and called me an ungrateful freak and a waste of space."

"Did your uncle ever hit you or hurt you at all?"

"No and Aunt Petunia's swats didn't really hurt either. Dudley was the only one that ever punched or pinched me while we still lived on Privet Drive. He mostly just left me alone after they moved to Blackmore; except when he'd stand outside of my closet and taunt me."

_That's a relief,_ John thought to himself as he considered just how much worse Harry's life could have been in order to keep his anger at what he knew about how bad the child's life _had_ been at bay.

"What else can you tell me about the cat lady you stayed with when you weren't with your relatives? Do you remember her name?"

"She had a really long first name and a really short last name that was like a kind of fruit. She had lots and lots of cats and some of them were really funny looking with squashed faces or funny little tails and neck ruffs like tiny lions. The normal looking cats and the funny faced cats mostly ignored me but the little lion-like ones always tried to sit in my lap. I liked the tiny blue and white one; she always purred every time she crawled under my shirts to rub her face on my tummy."

"Is that all you remember about the cat lady?"

"Her house always smelled like boiled cabbage and she let me have some cake once but it tasted funny and made me sick after I ate it. She was boring too. All she did was talk about her cats and show me pictures of the ones that had died. She was also the only one to call me by my other name until today. She called Harry and Mr. Potter and sometimes she called me Harry James Potter when I wasn't listening to her."

"Poisoned cake," Sherlock murmured under his breath to John's confusion but the doctor didn't really have time to dwell on the oddness of Sherlock's statement as Mycroft asked his next question.

"Did you like the woman?"

"I guess, but I didn't like going over there because it was boring. And Aunt Petunia would always make me walk around to the backyard after I stayed with the cat lady so that she could hose me off with the hosepipe and she would make me stripe down to my underwear outside before I was allowed in the house. Aunt Petunia didn't like animals. She especially didn't like cats and cat hair."

"Was there anything that old nag did like?" Sherlock sarcastically demanded under his breath.

"Uncle Vernon, Dudley, stinky perfume, showing off, gossiping, nagging, and being mean," Harry promptly answered as he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"In other words she was dull and uninteresting."

"Quite," Harry agreed solemnly with a sage nod before he took another drink of his tea.

John nearly groaned over the kid channeling Sherlock yet again while Mycroft smirked and Greg just shook his head and grinned. The only reason he contained his exasperation this time was because both man and boy had a point; Petunia Dursley was an all around horrible woman.

"Now, I am aware that you already answered this question once before when Dr. Watson asked you last night; but could you please tell me what you remember about the day you lost your eyesight?" Mycroft inquired as he resumed his rather tame inquisition.

"Does it really matter…?" Harry countered as he turned his face away from Mycroft to track Anthea's footsteps as the woman crossed the room to gather up all of the leftovers so they could be put away since it was apparent that every one else was far more interested in hearing Harry's answers than eating.

"Yes, it does matter. We want to make certain that your relatives didn't intentionally harm you and that their stories match up to the parts that you remember when we get around to questioning them about what happened."

Harry sighed and let his shoulders sag before he reluctantly answered the question, "I was washing the window and the sun was so bright that I couldn't see anything but the light on the glass and then there was pain before everything went dark. The Darkness has stayed ever since then."

"Do you remember which window you were washing at the time?"

"The kitchen window."

"Where were your relatives?"

"Uncle Vernon was not home. Aunt Petunia was out front talking with the woman next door. And Dudley was playing in the backyard."

"Why was your uncle not at home? Was he working?"

"No. Aunt Petunia sent him to the store to buy more candy."

"What was the candy for?"

"For Aunt Petunia to give to the kids when they knocked on the door; Dudley had eaten the other bag of candy."

"You were blinded on Halloween night; just as the sun was setting," Sherlock deduced as he jumped to his feet. "You were in the kitchen standing in front of a window that faced the backyard and your cousin was in the backyard playing; you were watching him when the sun hit the window. What was he playing? How was he dressed? Did he have any toys in his hand?"

"I don't know what he was playing and can't remember what he was wearing. He was swinging the new cricket bat that Uncle Vernon had bought him as part of his costume."

"Did he have a cricket ball as well or just the bat?" John asked as he immediately sensed where Sherlock was going with those last three questions.

"Just the bat."

"I just about have it. Okay, focus on your breathing for me, Harry… and that name is going to have to go, it's far too ordinary for such a brilliant child… breathe in and breathe out and then think back to the exact moment when the sunlight blinded you. Now, tell me; after the sun cut off your view of the backyard; what did you hear just before you felt pain?"

Harry tipped his head to one side and furrowed his brow before he replied with an uncertain, "A loud crash?"

"The injury was an accident," Sherlock declared as he sat back down, pulled out his pipe, and struck a match to light the pipe. "The Dursley child obviously lost control of the bat as he swung it about and the bat crashed through the window that our boy was washing at the time. Our boy couldn't see the bat flying towards him; so, he didn't know to duck out of the way before it crashed through the window. He was at just the right height for the bat and at least some of the glass to strike his face at or near eye level; he was probably standing on a stool of some sort. He would have fallen backwards from the force of the blow and hit the floor hard."

"His head would have then slammed into the floor while his face or chest was potentially struck with the bat a second time as it followed him down. The blow to the back of the head in combination with the injury to his face was severe enough to affect his eye sight with the residual concussion from the blow to the head causing his memory of everything that happened after he was hit to be fuzzy if it didn't just knock him out straight away. His cousin probably witnessed the accident and either fled to escape punishment or ran straight to his mother to blame entire thing on our boy."

"Mrs. Dursley then rushed in to find our boy injured and… did whatever it was she did; which probably wasn't much. Do you remember where you were when you first woke up after that, Herlebeorht?"

"Who are you talking to, Sherlock?" John asked when the name the man used drew a confused look from everyone but Mycroft.

"Do try to keep up with me, John; Herlebeorht is obviously a much more appropriate name for the child."

"I don't want a new name; I _like_ my name," Harry insisted indignantly as he loudly set his empty mug on the table and scowled fiercely in Sherlock's direction.

"Of course you do, kid; you simply don't know any better yet. Now, please answer the question."

"My cupboard and I know enough names to know I like mine just fine."

"And just how many names do you know to know that there isn't one out there that is better?"

"I know the names of everyone who lives in Blackmore, the names of everyone who worked in town, and the names of those people who didn't live there but visited all the time. I know your name too."

"Yes, you knew my name before we even met. How did you learn their names?" Sherlock asked as he leaned forward to once more intently study Harry. "It is highly improbable that each and every person that lived in or passed through that small town would have stopped by the Dursley's house and introduced themselves to your relatives within your limited, if impressive, range of hearing."

Surprisingly, Harry didn't even attempt to answer the question. In fact, he clammed right up; going so far as to cross his arms protectively over his chest and close off his face (which made for a rather disturbing image due to the kid's dead green eyes). It was a look that John had seen many times on Sherlock's face (though Sherlock's eyes were never quite as intimidating as the kid's empty ones) and he suspected that Harry would fight tooth and nail to hold onto that particular secret. A glance at Sherlock showed that the younger Holmes brother was obviously annoyed by Harry's sudden stubbornness as he too had crossed his arms over his chest.

"Stop being childish, Sherlock; you're a grown man, you have no reason to sulk just because you're being denied the full disclosure of a nine year old child's deepest secrets," Mycroft chastised the moment Sherlock began scowling when the younger man realized that Harry wasn't reacting to his change in posture. "Mr. Potter, did the Dursleys ever tell you why they moved away from Privet Drive?"

"They had to move because my Freakishness was infecting their lives and making their lives more difficult," Harry replied without dropping his arms or turning his face; his tone once again devoid of all emotion which John suspected was due to the answer he had delivered and not his earlier refusal to answer Sherlock's prying question.

"Did they allow you to see the woman with the cats before they moved? So you could say goodbye?"

"No. I was not allowed out of my cupboard after they learned about The Darkness."

"Do you remember how you got from Privet Drive to Nine Ashes Lane?"

"Aunt Petunia walked me outside and put me in the car when it was time to leave. Uncle Vernon then drove for a little while before he stopped the car and made me climb into an empty suitcase. I wasn't let out again until we were already there."

"Was that when you were moved into the closet?"

"Yes."

"Did your aunt or uncle ever let you out of the closet?"

"Only Aunt Petunia; she would let me out once in morning before the sun rose and once after the sun set to go to the bathroom."

"Were those the only times she let you out?"

"No, she would let me out once a month after lunch and lock me in the bathroom while she cleaned out my closet. The only other time she let me out was when I threw up the day Mrs. Roberts was killed and after that I was grounded for making extra work for her."

"Grounded…? What did she take away from you while you were grounded?"

"I wasn't allowed to spend any extra time in the bathroom when she let me out and I only got half sandwiches for every meal instead of full ones but that was because I wasted my supper that first night because I couldn't eat."

"What did she give you to drink with your meals?"

"Water and sometimes a bit of milk if it was just about to go sour."

"Did you ever sneak out of your closet without permission?"

Harry hunched his shoulders and dropped his arms down to his stomach and even John could tell that the answer to that question was yes. Mycroft didn't push the child to acknowledge the clandestine trips instead asking him, "Will you tell me about the treasures you collected? Did you have any of them at Privet Drive or did you collect them after you were moved into the closet?"

"The toys and my crayons I found in the backyard at the old house."

"And the others?"

"I stole them from the attic when I snuck up the ladder I found behind the loose board at the back of my closet."

"That sounds like a rather interesting adventure I'd enjoy hearing more about when I have enough time to properly enjoy hearing all of the details," Mycroft stated with a soft laugh to John's surprise. "For now, I have time to ask you two final questions and then I will stop pestering you before Dr. Watson decides to throw me out for tiring you. First; do you want someone to take you back to the Dursleys? In other words; did you wish to continue living with your relatives?"

The look of absolute horror on Harry's face and the rapid shaking of his head were a clear enough answer for that question and once again Mycroft didn't push for a verbal answer. The man simply nodded as he stated, "I suspected as much but I am required by law to ask you since they are your only living relatives. Last question; do you want to stay here with Dr. Watson and Sherlock or would you like me to find you someplace else to stay?"

Unlike the previous question, this question caused Harry to fall still and John was almost positive that the kid had stopped breathing for nearly a full minute before he gave an answer that didn't really answer the question, "I don't want to be a burden."

"You won't be, Harry. You are more than welcome to stay here, if that is what you want. Or if there is a place you'd rather go, such as the home of the woman you mentioned earlier to live with her and her cats, then we will make arrangements to see that it happens," John assured the boy before Sherlock could explode at his brother for even daring to suggest removing the boy from their care.

"I don't want to go back there," Harry finally whispered.

"I hate to push you when it obvious that you feel uncomfortable, but I need a yes or a no from you, Mr. Potter; do you wish to stay here with Dr. Watson and my brother?"

"You may change your mind later, Mr. Potter; if there is a problem that can't be fixed or if you feel unsafe," Greg gently added when Harry still showed reluctance to actually make a decision.

"I want to stay," Harry finally stated as he wrapped his arms around his legs once more. "Mr. Holmes is the only one that ever knew the Dursleys were terrible before he even met them."

"Ha!" Sherlock crowed; the man's ego apparently sufficiently stroked for him to completely forget about Harry's earlier stubbornness and his brother's attempts to remove the child from their care; both because Harry had practically praised his intelligence and because the kid wished to stay.

"As you wish then, Mr. Potter," Mycroft replied as he gracefully climbed to his feet. "I appreciate your cooperation and hope that you will extend the same level of cooperation to Inspector Lestrade when he asks you a few questions about what happened to Mrs. Roberts later; he has a job to do and he needs a little more help from you. Gentlemen… and Sherlock; you can expect to hear from me again in a few days. Come, Anthea; we have two imbeciles that require a stern talking to and if they should attempt to ignore me or attack me, well, they wouldn't be the first men to be hoisted by their own petards."

Mycroft and his assistant were then out the door before anyone else could say goodbye.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

* Lyonesse – is purportedly a sunken land much like Atlantis and it is supposed to have been located off the shore of Land's End (Cornwall, England). The kingdom is featured in Arthurian Legend as the birthplace of Sir Tristan (also written as Tristam) one of King Arthur's Knights of the Roundtable and the Champion of the King Mark of Cornwall (who also happened to be his uncle). The connection between the HP Potter family and this legend is purely fabricated by me (the author) for the sake of the story.

* Random odd names – these will be Sherlock's attempts to rename Harry with something far more dignified or suitably mysterious. Yes, I know other authors have done the same thing but I couldn't resist. I will limit those names to those that start with the letter 'H' and try not to use more than two or three per chapter. I picked out some real weird ones I found on the internet whose origins I am unaware of and don't even bother asking me how to pronounce some of the weirder ones.

Don't worry though, Harry's name will remain Harry and there will be no extra added middle names tacked on. I just like the idea of Sherlock teasing Harry and being irritated enough with Harry's common name that he makes continuous attempts to get the kid to agree to change it.

* Hoisted with/by one's own petard – I believe this quote is Shakespearean in nature but I'm not one hundred percent certain of that, so don't quote me on it please. Normally, I'd do a bunch of research to find out but I'm far too busy researching and refreshing my memories on all things Holmesian since it has been well over two decades since I last read Doyle's original work and I've not watched all adaptations of his work; which is why my Sherlock characters may end up being out of character and in case there is anyone who hasn't noticed, I've drawn most heavily from the more modern adaptations – in case you didn't figure that out based on the technology used.

I also have no set time within the Sherlock timeline for this story to be set in. I won't be mentioning any of the villains or mysteries that Sherlock encountered since I'm too rusty on the Holmesian Verse to try and fit the madness with Moriarty into the story. I will mention other criminals and cases but I won't go into too many details since they aren't the focus of the story. I've also left out any relationships that John and Sherlock have been involved in for much the same reason. So, no, there won't be wedding bells in John's near future or recent past. The only true relationship that will be given screen time is HP/LL later in the story.


	8. Tedious Travesties

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Seven: Tedious Travesties<span>

_Sunday, November 05, 1989 2:23 P.M.  
>221B Baker Street, London, England<em>

Harry was almost afraid to breathe as the older Mr. Holmes swept out of the flat with the unspeaking woman following on his heels. He was having a rather difficult time accepting that this was all really happening; he'd never had any one give him something that he had wanted before. The dreamlike feel of things was part of the reason why he'd told the man as much as he had; since there was a good chance that no one would ever hear what he'd said because it was all in his head anyway. The only thing he refused to talk about was the Namelessness; he was too frightened of someone taking away that part of him that had brought colors back to his life.

"I'm going to make a fresh pot of tea," Dr. Watson declared as he climbed to his feet; the legs of his chair scraping across the wooden floor. "Harry, it's been just over two hours since you ate; would you like a small snack to tide you over until supper?"

"No thank you, sir. I'm still full."

"Alright, if you do grow hungry, I would appreciate it if you let me know instead of keeping it to yourself."

Harry voiced a noise of agreement before he dropped his head to his knees in exhaustion; who knew talking could make one so tired? And he'd talked more in the past two days than he had during the entire time he'd lived with the Dursleys. It also felt kind of nice to be allowed to talk, to be _encouraged_ to talk. It was even nicer to actually have someone _listen_ to what he had to say and to have someone answer his questions. He was startled out of his thoughts at that point by a pair of warm arms lifting him up out of the chair he'd been curled up in and he let out a short cry of shock as he tried to shrink away from the touch.

"Calm down; I'm moving you to a more comfortable seat," Mr. Holmes stated as the man tucked Harry against his chest and began walking.

He didn't go very far before he set Harry down once more and promptly wrapped a soft, warm blanket around the nine year old. Harry thought it might have been the same blanket that he'd woken up in but he couldn't be certain; either way, it felt nice and comforting and he let out a soft sigh as he snuggled deeper into the folds of the thick fabric. He let out a soft squeal of surprise two seconds later when someone dropped down beside him on what must be the couch and the sudden weight hitting the cushions caused him to bounce. He then let out a soft giggle because it had been kind of fun to bounce once he got over the surprise.

"Hold out your hands, Harry; I brought you a fresh mug of tea with lemon," Dr. Watson instructed as his footsteps approached Harry from behind just a few minutes later.

Harry did as asked and slipped his hands free of the covers. Dr. Watson then pressed the warm mug into his hands and waited until Harry had a firm hold of the mug before he let go. The man then walked away and Harry dropped his nose into the steam rising gently from the mug in his hands as he inhaled the scent of black tea and warm lemons. It was a familiar scent that he half remembered from the times he visited the cat lady and sat drinking tea while Little Lady, the small blue and white cat that always sought him out, curled up beneath his shirt and purred at him.

"Are you feeling up to answering a few more questions or did you wish to rest for a bit longer, Mr. Potter?" Inspector Lestrade inquired as he returned the chair he'd used earlier to its proper place and sat down somewhere across from Harry's current perch.

"I'm fine," Harry replied before he took a sip of his tea.

"If at any time you need a break, don't hesitate to speak up," Dr. Watson ordered as he moved to sit in another chair that was close to where Inspector Lestrade was seated; leaving Harry to assume that it was Mr. Holmes sitting on the couch beside him.

Harry scrunched up his face for a brief moment in confusion, the doctor seemed awful insistent that Harry always keep him informed of how he was feeling, before he nodded in response to the order. He then snuggled a bit deeper into the blankets as he settled into the corner of the couch so he didn't feel quite so exposed.

"Do you remember the date and time you heard the suspects enter Mr. Roberts's house?"

"It was Tuesday morning. Aunt Petunia always spent Tuesdays at the Ladies' Club playing cards with the other women at the club and she always left the house at eight fifteen in the morning and returned fifteen minutes before one in the afternoon. That was on Halloween day; Dudley was bragging about how much candy he was going to get that night from the neighbors before Uncle Vernon drove him to school on his way to work."

"Do you know what time it was when you heard the suspects?" Inspector Lestrade asked after he'd finished taking notes on Harry's answer.

"No. I just know it was sometime after Mrs. Freemont picked Aunt Petunia up to drive her to the Ladies Club."

"Where were you and what were you doing when you first noticed the suspects?"

"I was in my closet and I was listening to my music box play."

"Why didn't you sneak up to the attic after your aunt left the house?" Mr. Holmes inquired before Inspector Lestrade could ask his next question.

"Uncle Vernon moved stuff around up there to make room for a bunch of Dudley's old things three months ago and the stuff he moved blocked the door, so I couldn't sneak out that way any more after that."

"What was it that first made you notice the suspects?" Inspector Lestrade asked after a brief pause.

"They were in the Dursleys' yard. I was scared that they were going to sneak into the Dursleys house and that I would be blamed for it or that they would find me and get me in trouble because Aunt Petunia said no one could know about me."

"Did they try to break into the Dursleys' house?"

"No, they just climbed over the fence to get into the backyard and then climbed over the fence again into Mr. Roberts's backyard."

"Last night, you had said that Mrs. Smyth had let the suspects into the house; is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me when Mrs. Smyth entered the house?"

"No. She wasn't supposed to be there. She never showed up on Tuesdays."

"So you didn't hear Mr. Roberts let her in that morning?"

"No. I heard Mr. Roberts leave for work on time that morning."

"And what time does Mr. Roberts leave for work when he is on time?"

"Seven fifteen – the same time as when Aunt Petunia calls Dudley down for breakfast."

"Do you know if Mr. Roberts gave Mrs. Smyth a key to his house?"

"No. He never gave any one other than Mrs. Roberts a key. Not even Miss Halsey had a key."

"Who exactly is Miss Halsey?"

"She's Mr. Roberts's fiancée. She works at the café next to the bakery in town."

"Do you know how long Mr. Roberts had been engaged to Miss Halsey?"

"No."

"How did you know she was engaged to Mr. Roberts?"

"Aunt Petunia always talked about her during the tea parties she held every Wednesday afternoon and how improper it was that she often spent the night at Mr. Roberts because they weren't yet married."

"So, you didn't hear Mrs. Smyth arrive but she was already in the house when the suspects arrived; correct?"

"Yes."

"Did Mrs. Smyth spend the night with Mr. Roberts?"

"No, she never stayed the night. She left Monday afternoon right after lunch like always and Miss Halsey spent the night that night."

"When did Miss Halsey leave in the morning?"

"The same time as Mr. Roberts; he took her to work like he always does after she spends the night."

Inspector Lestrade took a short break from asking questions at that point as he made several notes on the pad of paper he was holding; the nib of the man's old fashioned pen scratching at the paper rhythmically. Harry was grateful for the short break as he drank his now cold tea and listened to the various sounds that filtered through the headphones he still wore. He could hear Dr. Watson also writing; the doctor's pencil sliding across the paper smoothly. Mr. Holmes on the other hand was mumbling to himself under his breath and drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch; his fingers tapping out an unfamiliar melody on the fabric.

"Are you ready to continue, Mr. Potter?"

"I guess."

"Alright, can you tell me exactly how many suspects entered the Dursleys yard to climb over the fence?"

"Two."

"What else can you tell me about those two suspects?"

"One was tall; like Mr. Holmes. He wore a hat that covered his short hair. He was wearing clothes that were dark and tight. The other man was short; shorter than Dr. Watson. He was also bigger with lots of muscles. The short man was wearing the same kind of clothes as the tall man. Both men talked differently than everyone else in town. It made them stand out. The short man sounded like the Irishmen on the telly when Uncle Vernon would watch the news while the tall man sounded something like a Welshman but weird like. He slurred some of his words. Like Aunt Marge does when she drinks too much wine."

"Last night you also said that you had noticed those two suspects around town for a while before the attack. Can you describe what it was they were doing as best you can? And anything you noted that was different from when you first took note of them and how they looked or acted on the day of the attack?"

"They were always knocking on everyone's door and talking about god and the bible. The shorter man would do all of the talking and the tall man would carry the pamphlets they were giving everyone. They wore dark suits at the time and both wore stiff hats on their head. They wore stiff shoes too; I could hear them tapping on the walkway when they walked up to the front door. The smaller man also wore glasses. He wasn't wearing the glasses when he killed Mrs. Roberts. After the first two days they were in town most everyone ignored them. They spent most of the time somewhere on Nine Ashes Lane after that; always real close to the Dursleys house."

"Do you know where they went each night? Did they stay in town or leave and come back the next day?"

"They slept in stand of trees that are across the road from Blackmore Millennium Park."

"Did they have an automobile?"

"No. They walked everywhere."

"What did the two suspects do after they were let into the house by Mrs. Smyth?"

"They followed Mrs. Smyth into the house. That was when the van pulled up and I didn't know what they were doing after that until they argued with Mrs. Smyth about Mr. Roberts's treasures. That was when I first noticed that they had been taking Mr. Roberts's treasures and wrapping them up in stiff paper before packing them into a suitcase. I got scared because I knew what they were doing was wrong but I didn't know how to tell anyone what they were doing."

"Do you know what kinds of treasures they were taking?"

"The ones that Mr. Roberts liked to brag about the most. There were three paintings, all of the special cases that held Mr. Roberts's old coins, and the pretty little green statues of animals he kept on his desk in the study upstairs."

"What happened after you got scared when you realized that they were stealing Mr. Roberts's things?"

"Mrs. Roberts drove up in her fancy car that Uncle Vernon always tried to buy from her. I thought the strangers and Mrs. Smyth would be caught but… but they… the short man… he stabbed her when she walked in on them. He killed her and her blood was all over the floor like mummy's pretty red hair in my nightmares. There was so much blood…"

"John, young Harland here needs a fresh cup of tea; his cup has gone cold," Mr. Holmes interjected, the sound of his voice startling Harry out of his growing panic after he had gotten trapped up in the terrible memory of Mrs. Roberts's death yet again.

The nine year old then scowled as he realized Mr. Holmes had got his name wrong again and turned his face towards the man and corrected him, "My name is Harry. Just plain Harry."

"Pass me your mug, plain Harry, and I will get you some more tea," Dr. Watson gently instructed with a laugh as he stood up and approached the couch.

"Would you like me to pass you a couple of biscuits, Mr. Potter?" Inspector Lestrade offered and Harry whipped his face back towards the man and scowled suspiciously as he shrank back into the corner of the couch.

"No."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a couple of biscuits? They're the really tasty kind…"

Harry adamantly shook his head no and cringed out of habit as he waited to either be scolded or mocked.

"Don't tease the child, Inspector; either hand him a couple of biscuits or leave him be," Mr. Holmes retorted and Harry frowned in thought as he twisted back around to face the tall man again.

He couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Holmes had used his own Namelessness on Harry in order to know that the Dursleys always teased him with biscuits by asking him if he wanted some and then scolding him if he said yes or insulting him if he said no; the word game he'd played the night before with the calm voice completely forgotten. He then shook his head and firmly tucked his hands out of sight in order to stop the Inspector from giving him any biscuits; he didn't want to be accused of stealing sweets and being ungrateful – Aunt Petunia had done that to him all of the time before The Darkness.

"Hands out, Harry; I have your tea," Dr. Watson stated as he returned to the sitting room. Harry warily accepted the mug and felt the man also press a small tin into his hand at the same time. "The tin is filled with peppermint flavored Altoids; they will help settle your stomach. They are rather strong; so I suggest sucking on just one at a time instead of chewing them."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson," Harry murmured shyly as he carefully held onto both the mug and the tin.

Several minutes passed in near silence and Harry steadily sipped at his tea. He was actually starting to drift off to sleep as the warmth of the tea filling his stomach combined with how snug and warm he felt wrapped up in the blanket made him drowsy. He'd just tucked his chin down into the covers when Inspector Lestrade gently cleared his throat and started asking questions again.

"What can you tell me about the suspect driving the van?"

"He never got out of the van. I'd never seen him in town before," Harry sleepily replied and the couch bounced a bit as Mr. Holmes abruptly shifted in response to something Harry had said.

"Can you tell me anything else about the van? Such as the license plate number?"

"No. I don't know how to read. The motor was loud though and the breaks made a grinding sound as the van stopped in front of Mr. Roberts's house."

"Do you know when the van left?"

"No. I don't remember anything after Mrs. Roberts was stabbed until Aunt Petunia pulled me out of my closet to clean up the mess I had made when I threw up after… after I saw…"

"Okay. I only have a couple more questions that I need to ask you now. I realize they might be rather hard to answer but I need for you to answer them as best you can. Can you do that for me, Mr. Potter?"

"I'll try."

"Thank you. First, can you tell me how many times the short suspect stabbed Mrs. Roberts?"

"Three," Harry whispered tightly.

"Where did he stab her?"

"Her back, her stomach, and her chest."

"Did he do anything else to her?"

"He grabbed her and covered her mouth with his hand."

"Did Mrs. Roberts say anything to the suspects before she died?"

"Yes. She asked them who they were and what they were doing. She screamed too; when the short man stabbed her in the back. It was muffled by the short man's hand though."

"Last question; do you know what the suspect stabbed her with?"

"A knife. A folding one like Mr. Sawyer uses when he opens the boxes of tinned food he sells in his store; only bigger."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter; you've been a big help. I am pretty certain that I have everything I need to catch the people that were responsible for Mrs. Roberts's death thanks to the information you've given me. I may need to come back and talk to you again later though and ask you a couple of more questions once I find them; so I can make certain I have the right people."

"You're welcome, sir."

"If either of you learn anything more or if the kid remembers anything else, call me," Inspector Lestrade stated as he put away his notepad and pen as he climbed to his feet. "I'll see myself out."

Harry let out a sigh of relief as the Inspector's footsteps headed for the door. The man was nice enough but Harry didn't like all the questions the man had asked. Harry then wriggled around a bit to get comfortable before he pulled the blanket up over his head and leaned his head against the arm of the couch. A few minutes later, he felt Dr. Watson dig into the blankets to retrieve his empty mug (the man's cold hands identifying him) but he left Harry the tin of Altoids. The man then silently tucked the blankets more snugly around Harry. Harry fell asleep seconds later.

When Harry woke up again a few hours later, he experienced another brief moment of disorientation until the tin of Altoids rattled loudly when he bolted upright. He dropped back against the couch with a long sigh a heartbeat later as he recalled meeting the older Mr. Holmes and answering questions all day long. Harry then reluctantly uncovered his head so that he could listen for the two men that had saved rescued him from his closet and the Dursleys.

"Ah, perfect timing, Harry; I was just about to wake you up so that you could eat supper," Dr. Watson declared from behind the couch. "Do you need to use the bathroom before you sit down at the table?"

"Yes," Harry replied around a yawn that snuck out as he felt the pressure of a full bladder once more thanks to all of the tea he'd drank earlier.

"Alright, let's get you untangled from your blankets and I'll guide you back to the bathroom."

"Here's your peppermints back, sir," Harry offered as the man gently tugged the blankets away enough for Harry to pull his arms free.

"Those are for you to keep. You can leave them on the table that is sitting right beside the arm of the couch that you are curled up against so that you can find them when you need them. I put all of the treasures that you had wished to bring with you on the table as well. You may keep them there until we can get a room set up for you."

Harry nearly dropped the tin he was holding in surprise over that proclamation; it had been a long time since anyone had given him a gift. He was even more surprised that his treasures had been saved; he had figured they'd been lost because he couldn't remember what had happened to them. The idea of a room worried him though; he didn't want to end up in another cupboard or closet but he didn't think he deserved an actual room. Harry jumped a bit when Dr. Watson's cold hands took hold of the hand that was holding the Altoid tin and guided his hand to the table so he could set the tin aside while he used the bathroom.

The nine year old blushed over the need for the help but found himself feeling strangely happy that the man was nice enough to help him without making him feel guilty for needing the help. Aunt Petunia had hated helping Harry when he couldn't do something before he'd learned to use the Namelessness so he wouldn't need the help. Thinking about the nameless something inside of him brought back all of Harry's insecurities as he let Dr. Watson guide him through the flat to the bathroom.

He didn't know if he would be allowed to use the Namelessness any more. He'd had to be very careful when using the Namelessness around the Dursleys because they wouldn't have liked it. They didn't like things that were different and he'd never known another to use the Namelessness until he'd found Mr. Holmes and even then he wasn't absolutely certain that the man had the same kind of Namelessness. He didn't even know what rules he was supposed to follow now since he'd already broken the 'Don't ask Questions' and the 'No Talking' rules. He supposed he'd also broken the 'Don't Let Anyone See You' and the 'Stay in Your Closet' rules as well.

Harry was still worrying about rules and the Namelessness when Dr. Watson led him back to the table and helped him into what he thought might be the same chair he'd used earlier. He was just wondering if Dr. Watson or Mr. Holmes would talk about the rules soon or if he was going to need to ask them for the rules so he wouldn't break any of them on accident when he was startled by a set of footsteps running up the stairs and bursting into the apartment.

"I'm back, John!" Mr. Holmes loudly exclaimed before he slammed the door shut and Harry cringed in response to the loud noises as he clapped his hands over the headphones protecting his ears.

"So I heard, Sherlock. I've just finished making supper; if you wish to join the two of us for the evening meal."

Mr. Holmes just hummed in response as he quickly walked towards the table Harry was sitting at and Harry gingerly pulled his hands away from his ears when he stopped right beside the chair he was sitting in. Harry couldn't help but squirm when the man didn't say anything before he started walking again. Mr. Holmes then sat down in the chair that the other Mr. Holmes had used earlier.

"You have a question; ask it," Mr. Holmes commanded once he'd sat down.

Harry jumped in response to the order because he'd not expected the man to know what he was thinking. He then swallowed nervously as he wove his fingers together and complied, "I don't know the rules, Mr. Holmes."

"That wasn't a question but I already know that you wish to know what rules you will be required to follow while you are here based upon the way you worded your statement. The rules are simple. One; do not lie. Two; do not leave the building without permission. Three; do not go anywhere with anyone unless John or myself are going with you or we say it is alright. Four; stay out of the basement flat. And five you already know; do not sneak food from the table to hide for later. John may give you more rules to follow later but those five are the most important ones."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you have any other questions?"

Harry opened his mouth to say no only for Mr. Holmes to cut him off before he could say anything.

"Rule number one; no lies."

Harry closed his mouth and shifted uncomfortably; he had several questions he wanted to ask but he wasn't sure he should ask them just yet. He was especially reluctant to bring up the Namelessness even if he really wanted to ask Mr. Holmes about it. He really wanted to use the Namelessness to see for him so he wouldn't crash into things again like he had the first time he woke up too. But he was afraid to get caught using the unnamed something inside of him without permission. Unfortunately, getting permission meant asking for it and he was just too uncertain of how either man would react.

"You will not get in trouble for any questions, Harry," Dr. Watson added as he set several items down on the table in front of Harry. "No matter how silly you think the question might be; one of us will do our best to answer it for you. Now, I just placed a bowl of soup in the center of your placemat and there is a spoon directly to the right of the bowl. I've given you another small glass of milk and that is up in the top right hand corner of the placemat again. The pile of napkins is still sitting to the left of the placemat if you need them and the tin of crackers from your lunch is still sitting above the top left hand corner."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson," Harry murmured as he tried to ignore the bit about asking questions.

Mr. Holmes wasn't going to let him forget though as he instructed, "You might as well just ask your questions; avoiding the issue is just going to make it harder for you to feel comfortable here."

"Why are you both being so nice to me?" Harry finally asked as he pushed the matter of the Namelessness to the back of his mind for now.

Dr. Watson choked on his soup in response to that particular question for some reason while Mr. Holmes calmly countered with, "Would you rather we treat you the way your relatives treated you?"

"No."

"You deserve to be treated like a human being and as such that is how we will treat you," Dr. Watson added once he'd stopped choking.

"Oh."

"What else did you wish to know?" Mr. Holmes prompted.

"Why am I here?"

"You asked to stay."

"But why did you bring me here in the first place?"

"You needed a place to stay and this was the safest place for you to be at the time."

"How long will I be allowed to stay?"

"For as long as you wish and as long as it is safe," Dr. Watson answered this time.

"Do you really know who my parents were, Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me what they looked like?"

Dr. Watson dropped his spoon and Mr. Holmes set his cup down rather hard in response to that question and both men remained rather silent for a long minute until Dr. Watson carefully asked, "Didn't your aunt or uncle ever show you a picture of your parents before you lost your eyesight?"

"No."

"I never met either of your parents," Mr. Holmes finally answered as he pushed his bowl away from him. "My brother had a single picture of them though. Do you remember what your reflection used to look like when you looked in the mirror?"

"Sort of."

"Good, concentrate on that memory for a moment. Your father looked quite a bit like you with the same messy black hair; only he looked older and his skin was not quite as pale as yours. He looked to be about the same height as John but he might have been a bit taller. Your mother, on the other hand, had long red hair that hung loose about her shoulders and she had the same color eyes as you; they were a vibrant green. She was several inches shorter than your father. In the picture, both of your parents were very happy; your mother was holding you in her arms while your father had his arms wrapped around her waist as he smiled down at you over her shoulder."

Harry felt both happy and sad as he imagined the picture that Mr. Holmes had described and he desperately wished he could have seen the picture. He'd learned so much about his parents today and in some ways knowing what he did now only made him miss them all that much more.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"You're welcome. Was there anything else you wished to know?"

"Not right now, sir."

"Fair enough. Now, eat; before your soup grows cold and tasteless."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

Why am I not having Sherlock and John prod Harry into calling them by their first names? – I have several reasons, first; a lot of FanFictions out there always seem to be eager to have Harry call all of the adults around him by their first names from the moment he meets them (a few of mine as well) and I wanted to avoid that in this story. Second, this is not a 'Sherlock and John adopt Harry Story'; he is a witness for a murder and he is in their custody for his protection (and because Sherlock is fascinated by him and wants to solve the mysteries that surround him).

Third, addressing them by their titles is a form of respect and Harry is very respectful of all of the adults he knows. He won't call any of them by their first names bar his relatives and even then he always calls Petunia and Vernon by their titles (which in their case, is aunt and uncle because of his relationship to them). He will refer to other children by their first names but so far he's not mentioned the other children who lived in Blackmore. Fourth, in John's case, he earned his title and he is used to most everyone calling him Dr. Watson – unless they are a close friend.

Fifth, John (more so than Sherlock) is not going to push Harry on something that may or may not make him feel uncomfortable; I see John as being more considerate of Harry's potentially fragile emotional state than Sherlock. Sixth, Sherlock really doesn't care what Harry calls him because Sherlock doesn't exactly practice social niceties unless he sees an advantage in it. Sherlock's behavior towards Harry will swing between stern and coaxing (he can be manipulative when he wants to be) as he works to unravel Harry's mysteries. He won't baby Harry, he won't tolerate what he sees as pointlessness (Harry's attempts to hide his questions), but he also won't actively seek to cut him down like he does with adults that annoy him.

And finally, I see both men as treading somewhat carefully around Harry for the time being as they try to get a firm grasp on all of the 'triggers' that will affect Harry's state of mind. Sherlock in particular has no desire to witness another one of Harry's so called fits (remember his earlier comment in regards to Harry's reaction to hearing his music box play for the first time since Mrs. Roberts's death).


	9. Musical Manipulations

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Eight: Musical Manipulations<span>

_Monday, November 06, 1989 7:42 A.M.  
>221B Baker Street, London, England<em>

Harry finished the last of the orange juice that Dr. Watson had given him with breakfast that morning and carefully set the empty glass back on the placemat. He then picked up the last sausage on his plate (he'd been given three links with the two slices of toast and four apple wedges that morning) and slowly ate it while he waited for Dr. Watson or Mr. Holmes to tell him what he was supposed to be doing next. Dr. Watson in particular seemed to be overly fond of making certain that Harry always knew what was to happen before it happened while Sherlock tended to surprise Harry without any warning.

Unlike the previous morning, he'd woken up just a few minutes before sunrise (like he usually did because that's when Aunt Petunia had always let him out in the mornings) after spending a second night on the couch. Mr. Holmes had already been awake at the time and he had escorted Harry to the bathroom (using gentle nudges to guide him instead of holding Harry's hand like Dr. Watson had the day before) and back to the couch without prompting. It had almost been as if the man had known Harry needed to go before Harry had even finished waking up.

After that, Harry had spent an hour just cataloging the scents and sounds of the flat while Mr. Holmes sat and worked on something at his desk behind and to one side of the couch. Harry had even tried taking off the headphones that he'd been wearing since Dr. Watson had slipped them on his head the day before but each time he had removed them the loud noises from outside of the building had hurt his ears and made it hard to think; there were just so many sounds and they all mashed together in such a way that he could barely pick out the individual sources of them. London was definitely far noisier (and smellier) than Blackmore.

At the end of that first quiet hour (which was just after seven in the morning according the chimes of the clock that sat on the mantel of the fireplace – which had rang out the hour just a few minutes earlier), Dr. Watson had trudged down the stairs and greeted the two of them before he set about making breakfast. The meal itself had been rather quiet as Mr. Holmes never left his desk and Dr. Watson hadn't had much to say after he'd given Harry what was quickly becoming his usual mealtime guide to where everything was on the table in front of Harry; which included a full discloser on what the meal consisted of food-wise.

"Did you get enough to eat, Harry?" Dr. Watson inquired the moment Harry had finished the last bite of sausage.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied after he swallowed what was in his mouth; in truth he'd probably eaten a little too much that morning but it had just tasted so good. He'd especially liked the apples since he'd rarely ever gotten any fruits while living with the Dursleys.

"Let's get you cleaned up then," Dr. Watson stated as the legs of his chair scraped across the floor as he stood up to help Harry down. "Mrs. Hudson kindly picked up a couple of outfits in your size yesterday afternoon while she was out and the clothes you are wearing are rather…"

"The rags he is wearing need to be burned; they aren't even fit to be called clothes," Mr. Holmes interjected from his desk.

"Well, not quite the way I would have put it but there is truth in Sherlock's words."

"It's okay; they're just Dudley's old things," Harry stated matter-of-factly; he'd never been overly fond of any of the clothes that Aunt Petunia had given him to wear through the years.

"Come on then, let's get you to the bathroom so you can take a bath, or if you prefer a shower, at the same time."

Harry opted for a shower since he was used to taking rather short showers once or twice a week. Dr. Watson had stayed in the bathroom this time (the man had had Harry strip out of his clothes inside of the tub and behind the curtain for privacy) until Harry had finished his shower. The man had then handed Harry a towel through the curtain and had him wrap it around himself before he lifted Harry out of the tub and left him in the bathroom alone to dry off and get dressed.

That had been a bit awkward but Dr. Watson had insisted on waiting inside of the bathroom while Harry was in the shower in case Harry needed anything or in case he slipped and hit his head and he hadn't made Harry too uncomfortable since he hadn't hovered or tried to help Harry.

The clothes that Mrs. Hudson had picked up for him turned out to be a sturdy pair of second hand jeans that were still in very good condition (they were also far warmer and fit far better than any of Dudley's old clothes had), new underwear, a new undershirt, a new long sleeved t-shirt made from heavy cotton, and a second hand woolen jumper; all which had been freshly laundered and smelled faintly of lavender. There had been some socks and a pair of slippers too but Harry hadn't bothered putting them on; he felt more comfortable barefoot because it let him feel the floor which made it easier for him to move about and therefore less likely to slip or trip.

"Adequate; much better than the rags at any rate," Mr. Holmes commented upon their return to the sitting room; the words making Harry feel a bit self conscious. "And you're going to be late for work if you don't leave shortly, John."

"I don't work on Mondays, Sherlock; you know that."

"Yes, well don't you have some errands to run or something?"

"Why do I get the feeling that you are trying to get rid of me, Sherlock?" Dr. Watson asked as he escorted Harry back to the couch.

"Because I am and you and I both know there are at least a dozen things you wish you had on hand. And I know that you've not finished child-proofing your room and that you needed more boxes to finish said child-proofing."

"I am also fully aware that you are up to something even if I don't know what you are planning. I have my suspicions though and we will have words if you take things too far while I am out or if you run off and leave Harry alone because you got caught up in another case."

"I have no intentions of leaving the flat and Lestrade won't call me for another case until the current one is wrapped up and the perpetrators are behind bars. And all I am looking for is a few hours without any distractions," Mr. Holmes retorted airily.

"I will be asking Mrs. Hudson to check on you while I am gone," Dr. Watson warned as he moved about the flat.

"We'll see you around suppertime tonight then, John."

"Sherlock…"

"Suppertime and not a minute sooner, John; I will text you if we need anything."

"Don't make me regret this, Sherlock. And I will be asking Mrs. Hudson to bring up lunch for the both of you."

Mr. Holmes didn't say anything else and the doctor just let out a huff before he returned to the couch to address Harry; who had been silent as he listened to the strange exchange in bewilderment. "You are allowed to tell Sherlock no, if he asks or tells you to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, Harry."

"Okay," Harry replied when it seemed as if the man was waiting for an answer.

"Behave, Sherlock," Dr. Watson then ordered sternly before he left and Harry couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face upon hearing a grown man being told to behave as if he was a child. Dr. Watson had even used the same tone that Uncle Vernon used to use on Harry when his overweight uncle used to tell him not to do any funny business; stern with an unspoken warning that he'd be punished if he disobeyed.

"Alone at last," Mr. Holmes declared a heartbeat later. "Now let us get down to business."

Harry tensed in trepidation and shrank back into the corner of the couch. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.

"Relax, Heardwine," Mr. Holmes ordered as he approached the couch. "I have no intentions of harming you; I'm simply going to have you help me with a little experiment or two now that there is no one around to interrupt us or distract you with inanities."

"My name is still Harry," Harry insisted firmly with an annoyed frown. He then tipped his head to one side and furrowed his brow before he hesitantly asked, "Experiments?"

"Think of them as games, if it helps," Mr. Holmes instructed as he once again ignored Harry's statement regarding his name. "First; describe this room for me."

"It's noisy and it smells of smoke and chemicals. There are two desks, several bookshelves, a bunch of chairs, a table, a fireplace, three windows, and three doors. The floors are made of wood. It is also warm."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that; what color are the walls? What kind of chairs are in the room? How many lights are there? What else is hanging on the walls?"

"I don't know."

"You're not looking," Mr. Holmes corrected as he began pacing back and forth in front of the couch.

"All I see is The Darkness," Harry tightly growled in frustration because he didn't know what the man wanted from him.

"And yet, you told Inspector Lestrade that you had not _seen_ the suspect driving the van in town before; implying that you had _seen_ the other people you had mentioned. You said you _heard_ what every one else was doing but made no mentions of _seeing_ them. The contradiction leads one to believe that you did not tell the full truth about what you had witnessed and that begs one to ask why? What are you trying to hide? Why did you refuse to tell me how it was you'd learned the names of the people who lived in Blackmore?"

Harry's breath hitched; it almost sounded like the man _knew_ about the Namelessness. Or more specifically, that he knew about the Namelessness inside of Harry. It also seemed as if the man _wanted_ Harry to use the Namelessness but he wasn't certain if that was a good thing or not; for all he knew, Mr. Holmes only wanted to confirm that Harry was a freak before kicking him out or forbidding him from using his freakishness. He wasn't about to delude himself into believing that he'd be allowed to use his Namelessness just because Mr. Holmes used his Namelessness; he knew all about double standards, thank you very much.

"What are you afraid of? What is it that you can do that you don't want anyone to know that you can do? I know you used it the night I found you; you used it on me and you used it on Anderson. It was also how you witnessed the murder of Mrs. Roberts. Why won't you use it now?"

"I can't," Harry whispered as he pulled the blanket he'd slept beneath over him in order to hide.

"Yes, you can; but for some reason you won't."

"I'm not supposed to."

"And yet that never stopped you before."

"I don't want to be locked up again."

"None of our closets have locks on the doors and I can't be bothered to install any; it would be pointless because our closets are filled with our clothes and our cupboards are all fully occupied with various books and memorabilia and moving all of that junk would be too much of a bother."

"I still can't."

"Why?"

"I don't… I don't want to see her blood again."

"Mrs. Roberts's blood is not here; we are miles away from Mr. Roberts's house."

"I still see it when the music plays."

"Music… you said you were listening to your music box at the time you witnessed the murder. That only confirms that the music is associated with your memory of what happened. The music wasn't playing when I found you though and there was no music to be heard when you confronted Anderson."

"It's too noisy here for me to think the music."

"Why do you need the music?"

"It helps. It calls up the…" Harry started to answer only to drift off when he couldn't bring himself to say any more.

"The what…? What does the music call?" Mr. Holmes prompted as he couched down in front of the couch and pulled the blanket off of Harry's head.

"The Namelessness… the music calls up my Namelessness from inside of me."

"And what does the Namelessness do?"

"It paints the colors for me and carries the sound to me on the wind," Harry whispered tremulously as he tried to pull the blanket back over his head but Mr. Holmes refused to let go.

"Can you tell me what the Namelessness is?"

"Don't you already know? Isn't that how you knew everyone's secrets? And how you knew the Dursleys were terrible people before you met them?"

"No, I use my powers of deduction which are based on my ability to actually observe and take notice of the little details around me. A person's clothes, hands, posture, and face will tell their entire life's story if one bothers to look for it. So, I would like for you to tell me what this Namelessness you speak about is or what you believe it is."

"I don't really know what it is. It's just there, inside of me. I can feel it in my blood. It moves and breathes. It keeps me warm when I am cold and it cools me off when it is too hot."

"Have you always known about the Namelessness?"

"No."

"When did you first notice it?"

"Not until after I woke up in The Darkness."

"Do you have to use the song from your music box to call up the Namelessness or will any music bring it out?"

"Any music will call to it but it works best with the song from the music box; the notes flow like water, one into the next, just like the Namelessness."

"If I play you a song, will you use the Namelessness?"

"You want me to use the Namelessness? Doesn't my freakishness bother you?"

"Yes, I've been trying to get you to use it since I got home yesterday because I wish to understand what it is you do. And why would it bother me? Are you going to hurt me with it?"

"No. But it tried to steal your scarf," Harry replied contritely as he recalled the way the Namelessness had grabbed the man's scarf when he'd been wishing with all of his might that Mr. Holmes would stay.

"My scarf; that was you and your Namelessness that pulled my scarf that night? Why? What is it you wanted?"

"I wanted you to stay. I wanted someone to find me. I wanted you to find me."

"Why me?"

"Because you didn't like the Dursleys and I needed to tell you that you were wrong. Are you mad?"

"No, just surprised," Mr. Holmes replied as he finally let go of the blanket, stood up, and walked around the couch to fetch something from behind Harry. "I had wondered why my scarf had decided to fly from my neck to land upon the Dursleys' porch of all places when I'd had no desire to actually meet them. I'm rather pleased to have that mystery solved, in fact. Now, what do you say to a little music? I may not be a professional violinist but I do play rather well."

"Okay, I guess."

"Perfect, give me a moment to warm up and then I will play a little something."

A second later, Harry could hear a series of brief notes rising in pitch filling the room. The longer the man played, the longer the notes grew as he played through the scales in different keys. The sound of it actually reminded Harry of Miss Wright's music classes and he found himself relaxing for the first time since Dr. Watson had left rather abruptly. He could even feel the Namelessness stirring eagerly beneath his skin. He nearly jumped when the sound cut off rather unexpectedly several minutes later.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes."

"Wonderful. We're going to start small. I'll start with a short piece and when I stop playing, I want you to tell me everything that you learned about the couch that you are sitting on during that time. Here we go."

Mr. Holmes began playing again and this time, the notes formed a rather simple melody of an unrecognizable song that flowed smoothly from one note to the next. The sound of the music drowned out the rest of the sounds that filled the flat and Harry curled up with the blanket and closed his sightless eyes out of habit as he felt the Namelessness rise up once more. There was a tentative quality to the Namelessness that hadn't been there since he'd first started learning how to control the unnamed something inside of him to see the world; not counting his hesitance in using the Namelessness after he'd witnessed Mrs. Roberts being stabbed.

The hesitance was a reflection of his own hesitance though and after a full minute, once he felt a little more confident, he directed the Namelessness to explore the couch. Inch by inch, it was soon painting a picture of the piece of furniture in his mind. The first thing he noticed was that it was dark in color and he knew from the feel and smell of the material that it was made from leather (he had spent most of his time on the couch since he first woke up in the flat, after all). He thought the couch was rather old; the leather well worn and soft from use and the seams didn't squeak very loud when someone sat down on it.

Next the Namelessness helped to paint him a picture of what was on the couch with him. The blanket he was wrapped up in once more was pale in color, a soft gray, and made from a single piece material. There was a second blanket underneath him that was darker in color; he thought it might be green or blue. And the pillow that he had slept on had a dark gray or blue pillow case on it. On the opposite side of the couch from Harry, there was a single pillow that had what he recognized as the Union Jack on it. The Namelessness had just started to paint the floor when the music stopped rather suddenly and his connection to the Namelessness was jolted.

He felt queasy as he was hit with the usual backlash from the broken connection and he shuddered in distaste as he felt bile rise up to burn the back of his throat. Harry really disliked that feeling. He swallowed thickly (he didn't want to throw up and make a mess) and then blindly sent his hand searching for the tin of peppermints that Dr. Watson had given him as he recalled the man's promise that they'd help settle his stomach. Once he had it in hand, he pulled the tin close to him and slid his fingers over the case as he tried to feel the lid.

He pulled up the moment he felt the rounded lip and spilled a bunch of the mints out onto his lap. After he was certain he'd picked all of the Altoids that had fallen out, he put one in his mouth and bit down on it and chewed out of habit. The taste of peppermint was sharp and it almost burned his mouth and sinuses as it flooded his entire mouth. He started coughing as he gagged on the taste and shivered as each breath made his mouth and nose freeze.

"And that, my dear Hargrove; is why John warned you not to chew the mints he gave you," Mr. Holmes commented with a trace of exasperation.

"Harry," Harry wheezed in response once he caught his breath and no longer felt quite so overwhelmed by the taste of peppermint. At least his breakfast no longer felt like it was going to come back up.

"Yes, yes, so you've said; now, tell me about the couch."

Harry huffed in response to the slight against his name before he carefully closed the tin of Altoids and set it back on the table before dutifully replied, "It's old and worn but still comfortable. It's covered in dark leather and has enough room for three people to sit down. There are two blankets on the couch; the one wrapped around me is light gray and the one I'm sitting on is a medium blue or green. The pillow I've been sleeping with has a dark cover on it and there's a smaller pillow with the Union Jack on it on the far side. It also smells like smoke."

"Remarkable and while half of that could have been determined by scent or feel, the other half you'd have to actually have seen to know. What happened when I stopped the music; what made you feel sick to your stomach?"

"I lost hold of the Namelessness too fast. It snapped and made me sick."

"Does that happen every time you use the Namelessness?"

"No, only when it snaps."

"Do you know what causes it to snap?"

"It usually happens when I see something that scares or startles me. Or if a loud noise breaks my concentration."

"And the reason it snapped this time?"

"The music stopped too fast and I'd not been paying attention. Everything is still unfamiliar here so I don't know what to expect."

"It snapped after you saw Mrs. Roberts being stabbed; that is why you don't know what happened after that," Mr. Holmes stated almost to himself as he began pacing once more. "It is also apparent that the colors you 'see' with the Namelessness aren't always accurate or clear… why do you call it that or is that what your relatives called it?"

"I never told anyone else about the Namelessness and what else am I supposed to call it? It doesn't really have a name and calling it my freakishness doesn't feel right even if that is what Aunt Petunia would have called it if she had known about it."

"Why not call it magic?" Mr. Holmes demanded in a peculiar tone that Harry didn't recognize.

Harry response was automatic and deeply ingrained, "There is no such thing as magic."

"I see. Well, enough chattering; we're wasting time. Let us return to our game. This time, I want you to use your Namelessness to find the bearskin rug that is on the floor and learn as much as you can about it before the music stops. I will take care not to end on a short note to avoid making the Namelessness snap, as you say."

Harry nodded halfheartedly as he tried to recall where Dr. Watson had told him the rug in question could be found. The moment the music began playing again, he sent the Namelessness towards the floor where it pooled and spread out like water as it searched for the chosen object.

The rest of the morning would be spent performing similar tests as Mr. Holmes had Harry 'map' out everything within five feet of the couch. He'd even had Harry 'view' the same objects more than once with the instructions to find something on it that he'd missed the first time. Sometimes, he played different melodies while having Harry focus on the same objects to see if there were differences in how Harry saw the items using the different melodies.

By the time Mrs. Hudson interrupted the so called game when she brought up lunch, Harry was exhausted and he had a headache. He'd not pushed the Namelessness so much since he had just first started learning how to use it to paint the world. He had also never been quite so diligent in testing the limits of the Namelessness or his ability to recall what the Namelessness painted for him. The meal would pass by in a blur for the tired nine year old and the only thing he'd remember about the meal was that it hadn't been a sandwich.

Once he finished eating, Mr. Holmes would let Harry nap for a couple of hours while he sat at his desk once more. Harry was more than a little relived for the break; he didn't think he could call up the Namelessness one more time. He also no longer felt quite so uncomfortable about talking about the Namelessness with Mr. Holmes. The man was rather relentless in asking questions about what Harry saw or felt when he was using the Namelessness and about how the Namelessness worked. He'd actually grown rather unconcerned with the topic fairly quickly once he began talking about it.

After he woke up from his nap, Mr. Holmes had another list of questions to ask him about the Namelessness starting with, "How does the Namelessness get into or out of a building?"

"Through the cracks; it follows the wind."

"Can the Namelessness travel through a solid wall? Or though glass?"

"No."

"How did you make the Namelessness grab my scarf?"

"I don't know. I didn't make it, it just did it when I wished for you not to leave."

"Has the Namelessness picked up other objects or moved things for you?"

"No, it had never done anything like that before."

"How does the Namelessness carry the sounds to you?"

"On the wind."

"Does that mean that you hear the sounds long after they happen? Does it take longer to hear something that happens far away from you?"

"No. It lets me hear things right when they happen no matter how far they are; like using a telephone."

"Is there a limit to how far the Namelessness can travel from you?"

"Yes."

"What happens when you send it out too far?"

"I get really tired and if I push too much it hurts."

"Hurts how?" Mr. Holmes demanded in a rather sharp tone.

"It burns; like my blood caught fire."

"How far could you make the Namelessness travel when you were in your closet?"

"I could see all of Blackmore."

"Just the town or could you see the surrounding fields as well?"

"I could see everything."

"How do you know where the boundaries of Blackmore ended?"

"The people in town talked about it when they spoke to the strangers that got lost in town."

"Could you always see everything or did the distance the Namelessness could travel increase over time?"

"It increased over time."

"Do you remember how long it took before you could see all of Blackmore?"

"It was really hard to see things in the beginning. After I first learned to make the Namelessness paint the colors for me, I couldn't see much of anything outside of the closet. It took me a whole year before I could see the rest of the Dursleys' house. I couldn't see anything outside of the house until after I stole my music box from the attic. That was the same day I learned the Namelessness could bring me sounds too."

"That means it took you between two and three years to expand the limits the Namelessness could travel from you to include all of Blackmore and in the process learned quite a bit about the people that passed through the town. Unfamiliar faces turning up would have caught your attention right away after a point because the strangers would have been new and different for you to watch. Something you couldn't predict. That was why you watched the suspects so closely. I don't know if I should be impressed or disturbed; you've been stalking an entire town far more thoroughly than Mycroft could ever hope to before you even reached double digits."

"Am I in trouble now?" Harry tentatively asked in response to that final comment.

"No. But I will ask that you abstain from using your Namelessness to peek into the bathrooms or the bedrooms of our building; the rest of the world is fair game."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, that I'd like for you to not watch the people that live in this building when they are in their bedrooms or in the bathroom and that I don't care what you look at outside of this building."

"Oh. Okay."

"Good. Are you feeling tired at all right now? Do you think you are up to playing one last game? I'm interested to know how far the Namelessness can travel from this room."

"I'm fine."

"Perfect. I will keep playing until you tell me you have sent the Namelessness as far as it can go without causing you pain."

"Okay."

"Here, hop up on your feet. I'd like you to stand in the center of the room so that I can put everything into prospective once you've found your new limit."

In the end, Harry wouldn't see anything beyond the walls of the sitting room because the moment he found himself standing the center of the large open room (most of the furniture situated against the walls), he panicked. He'd lived in his cupboard for so long that the idea of being so far away from the walls terrified him. He didn't mind looking at the fields around Blackmore and he'd dreamed of running through them but to find himself without the security of a wall or something to use as a guide scared him.

Even the attic at No. 113 Nine Ashes Lane had been a loosely packed maze of scattered furniture and boxes.

His connection to the Namelessness snapped again as he threw himself backwards with a sharp cry before the sound was cut off when he emptied his stomach onto the floor. He'd promptly scrambled along the floor after that until he hit the wall with his back. From there he scuttled sideways until he encountered the first piece of furniture when he knocked over the hat rack. He then found Dr. Watson's desk and quickly slipped beneath it.

He would still be hiding under the desk when Dr. Watson returned to the flat; Harry had rebuffed all attempts by Mr. Holmes to coax or pull him out.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> _Yeah, I know I said I was only going to update two stories per day but I figured I'd give my readers an extra treat and catch this story up to the point where the other stories are currently at (preparing to post chapter 10 rather than chapter 9). I'll still update this again tomorrow as scheduled too. _

_In other news, I managed to write a whole three paragraphs on the next chapter of Banished Destiny rather than the occasional word or single sentence that I'd previously been managing. I'm hoping that means inspiration will strike soon so that I can finish that story. I'm rather excited by the prospect since it will mean that I've finally finished my second epic length stand alone crossover. (Haunted being the first). That might sound silly to some people but there is nothing quite like knowing that you've finished a large project that you've taken on.  
><em>

_Anywho, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. ~ Jenn_


	10. Holmesian Headaches

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

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><p><span>Chapter Nine: Holmesian Headaches<span>

_Monday, November 06, 1989 5:15 P.M.  
>221B Baker Street, London, England<em>

"Are you finished doing whatever it was you didn't want me to see, Sherlock?" John dryly inquired the moment he walked through the door. He then caught sight of his friend sprawled unhappily in his chair by the fireplace and no sign of Harry on the couch or at the table. "What have you done, Sherlock? Where is Harry?"

"I did nothing. The child is apparently agoraphobic and the moment he got a good look at the room, he stuffed himself under your desk and he rebuffed all of my attempts to remove him."

"What exactly was it you were trying to have him do when you made that discovery?" John asked as he tried not to get angry at Sherlock for being… well Sherlock. As he waited for an answer, he made his way to his desk to see if he could coax the boy out from underneath it.

"He was testing limits."

"You do know that I can just text Mycroft and have him send me a copy of the recording he undoubtedly made of what you were doing right? One way or another, I will find out."

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I told you exactly what he was doing at the time."

"Yes, testing his limits but the limits to what, Sherlock? What were you doing while he was testing?"

"I was playing my violin."

"Please tell me you didn't torment him with the song from his music box…"

"Now you're just being absurd, John; contrary to popular belief I do not make it a habit to go around tormenting children with their nightmares just for fun. I was not aware of his agoraphobia or I never would have asked him to test his limits while standing in the center of the room. He was perfectly fine all morning, he ate lunch without any fuss, and he took a nap for most of the afternoon."

John huffed but didn't respond as he crouched down beside his desk to peer at the small form huddled underneath it. He would have thought the nine year old was sleeping if not for how tensely the kid was holding himself combined with the white knuckled grip he had on the bottom edge of the back of the desk.

"Harry, I know you are frightened right now; but you can't stay under my desk. You'll catch a cold if you sit on the floor all night long. Please come out and I will guide you back to the couch." For a moment, John wasn't sure Harry was going to listen to him but the kid eventually uncurled his hand from the desk and reluctantly scooted away from the back corner. "Thank you."

As he led the child across the room, John couldn't help but notice the way Harry was pressing close to him and how his footsteps were unsteady and unsure; as if he feared he would trip over or walk into something any second. Once they reached the couch, Harry was quick to burrow beneath the blanket John had given him to use.

Sherlock had grown irritated the moment Harry had cooperated with John and the other man had stalked out of the flat in a huff. John wasn't surprised; Sherlock did not like it when other people succeeded where he failed when he set out to do a specific task that should be relatively easy in his mind – such as extracting a child from under a desk. John suspected that the only reason Sherlock had failed was because he had not sought to offer to move the child to a place where he had felt safe. Or the kid had associated his current fear with Sherlock and therefore not trusted him.

Harry would not respond verbally to any questions for the rest of the night and he outright refused to eat. The only time he deigned to allow himself to be shifted off of the couch was when John took him to the bathroom and then he promptly burrowed back beneath the blankets as soon as they returned to the sitting room. John hoped that his current behavior wouldn't be indicative of how Harry would behave for the rest of his time with them.

That line of thinking, made John once again question the wisdom of keeping the child with them. Realistically, the two of them were ill-prepared to take care of a child; especially one that had special needs. And it wasn't the boy's blindness that John was referring to.

The next two days would be a trial and a half as Harry remained silent and defensive; reinforcing John's growing belief that it had been a mistake to allow Sherlock to insist that the boy stay with them. Sherlock's attitude during those two days hadn't helped matters either as the man was obviously frustrated with the situation. The man admittedly took pains not to take out his frustrations on Harry but everyone else was fair game and John was rather tired of being snapped at all the time.

Thursday would bring with it several changes and leave John with a migraine.

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><p><em>Thursday, November 08, 1989 4:45 P.M.<br>221B Baker Street, London, England_

John wearily climbed up the stairs towards the flat he shared with Sherlock and their current guest; he'd spent most of the day at the hospital and he was exhausted and sore. He looked forward to a chance to sink into his chair by the fireplace and prop his feet up for a few hours or maybe take a nice long soak in the tub. He had barely stepped into the flat when he was forced to pull up short due to the extra chairs and tables that were scattered throughout the room.

"Sherlock, what in the deuce have you been…?" John started to demand with a frown as he glanced around the room only to trail off when his eyes fell on the new structure that was sitting in the corner that had sat empty since they'd brought Harry home with them. "What in the blazes is that, Sherlock? Are those… appliance boxes?"

Sure enough, there were six appliance boxes stacked up in the formerly empty corner of the room.

The two largest ones appeared to have once held industrial refrigerators and they were stacked one right on top of the other on their sides and butted up right against the wall. There was a third smaller refrigerator box that had been cut in half (vertically) that was butted up against the far right hand wall immediately behind the two larger boxes. On top of those three boxes, was yet another box; this one from a commercial washing machine.

The final two boxes (also taken from commercial washing machines) were stacked on their sides, one on top of the other and pushed up so that they were sitting up against the two larger refrigerator boxes and a good foot and a half away from the right hand wall. The entire structure formed a rather large L shape that had been laid on its side if one discounted the extra box on top and the half box on the back end.

"That, my dear Watson, is young Haraford's new quarters."

"_Harry!_" Harry's muffled voice corrected from somewhere inside of the boxes.

"He can't stay in a box, Sherlock."

"It is not just _a_ box, John. There are six boxes there and the smallest one is larger than the closet the Dursleys kept him in for five years."

"He's going to get hurt when they collapse if he's climbing around inside of them, Sherlock."

"No, he won't. I didn't just stack the boxes up to make them look pretty, John. Each box has a wooden frame for added support with another, slightly smaller box inside to protect him from the frames. The spaces between the two-by-fours inside all of the boxes are insulated to help block out the sounds of London and to protect him from any wayward drafts of cold air. All of the boxes were then bolted together to prevent them from shifting and Mrs. Hudson gave me permission to have them bolted to the floor and the wall to hold them in place."

"Each level is interconnected so that he can move freely between them, there are working windows and doors that can double as fire escapes, and there are access panels on the ladder; all of which will allow us to check on him as needed. It is a bit rough around the edges and unfurnished as of yet; but that can be remedied easily enough. Think of it as a cheep substitute for a playhouse instead of a pile of rubbish. More importantly, Henricus approves of his newly constructed accommodations."

"_Will you please stop giving me silly names!?_" Harry demanded before his head suddenly popped out from a previously unnoticed shuttered window on the middle level (the shutters made from cardboard sections cut directly out of the box, of course). "My name is Harry."

"And his sunny and mostly stubborn disposition has been properly restored," Sherlock smugly pointed out as he leaned against the two washer boxes that formed the base of the L shape.

"And the extra furniture littering the sitting room?" John asked as he tried to ignore the headache he felt forming.

"Ah, those are points of reference that have been strategically placed throughout the room to allow for the boy to navigate the room safely. It wasn't the size of the room that frightened our boy so much as the fact that there had been large sections of the floor that previously lacked tangible guides to help him safely cross the floor without someone guiding him. This is the largest space he has occupied since he'd woken up blind after the accident."

John couldn't refute Sherlock's logic for turning the sitting room into a landmine of toe-stubbing furniture (each of the pieces heavy and sturdy enough to hold their position if knocked into by Harry's slight form). He wasn't exactly pleased with all of the spontaneous new additions but he also knew that Sherlock had only had them brought in to help Harry feel more comfortable. John just really wished he'd had a bit of a heads up about Sherlock's plans since he suspected the reason Sherlock was eager to have the boy happy was so he could continue whatever experiments it was he conducting on and with the child.

Later that night, when he found the time to inspect the cardboard playhouse up close, John had to admit that the structure had been a good idea and it had been well made. Not even the fabricated playhouses one could buy at any hardware and garden store or toy store could claim to be as solidly built. All of the windows and doors were even hinged so that they could be easily opened and closed with little effort. They were also notably free from any form of locking mechanism.

And as Sherlock had said, Harry was rather happy with his new accommodations.

The ground floor consisted of a large open room (the bottom refrigerator box) with a small room off to the side in the bottom washing machine box (which would later become a study). The middle floor was then broken up into three rooms; the side room (which had been made into a walk-in, more like crawl-in, closet above the future study), a sitting room (with a pair of bean bag chairs), and a bedroom. The top floor was just the one room and the whole front end of the top box opened vertically (hinged at the top) and had a pair of fold out posts with which to prop it open so that the top of the second refrigerator box doubled as a porch (of sorts) or would once it had the railing added around the sides so Harry wouldn't fall off if he misjudged the distance to the edge of the box.

The half box on the end held a ladder that ran from the top washer box all the way down to the actual floor of the flat on the outer wall that butted up against the right hand wall on the end closet to Sherlock's desk. The rest of that box had then been turned into bookshelves for Harry to use as storage space. Each of the floors had three windows and one door; one window on the short side facing the flat's front door, a door on the very end of the longest side of the house, the second window beside the door, and the last window on the side of the two small rooms and facing out into the courtyard bracketed by the two sides of the fort.

The access panels Sherlock had mentioned were on the ladder tube; one for each level. Between the windows, doors, and panels, it would be an easy matter to quickly search the structure for Harry in the event of an emergency. All of the windows and the three access panels were also large enough for Harry to crawl out of if he needed to and the door on the middle floor opened vertically with the hinges on the bottom so it dropped down and out; a ladder attached on the inner side of the door providing a safe way down.

If John had still been a child himself, he would have been jealous of the playhouse.

Sherlock had been altogether too proud of himself about the whole thing. John quickly fixed that by making a comment about Mycroft doing an excellent job on the construction. The fact that Sherlock stalked off to pout after that confirmed John's guess that Mycroft had provided the labor (in hired stooges no doubt) and the building material even if the idea itself had been Sherlock's.

Harry's giggles over the short exchange had been music to John's ears.

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><p><em>Thursday, November 08, 1989 5:10 P.M.<br>Undisclosed Holding Facility, London, England_

Vernon Dursley was currently seated on an uncomfortable metal chair in a concrete room. He was dressed in an uncomfortable bright orange jumpsuit and his hands had been cuffed behind his back. The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a small table, a second chair, and a bare light bulb that hung directly above Vernon's head and bathed him in a small ring of light that left more than half of the room in shadows.

Vernon was currently stewing in his anger; he'd been sitting in the same damn room since he'd been pulled from his prison cell before sunrise that morning.

That was really nothing new though. He had been furious ever since those three men had pushed their way into his house and butted their noses into his family's business. Vernon placed the blame squarely on his unwanted nephew. The little brat had been nothing but trouble for him and his wife from the moment they'd found him on his doorstep. The last five years had been particularly troublesome as he and his wife feared the other freaks would come for them any day.

That someone had discovered the boy was a nightmare come true; even if the ones who'd found the boy hadn't been the freaks they feared.

In Vernon's mind, the fact that it was a police officer wasn't much better. His only hope was to have his case thrown out completely because the one man, who wasn't even a proper police man, had searched his house without a warrant. He would make damn sure his lawyer used that angle; once he'd managed to talk to his lawyer. They were denying him his rights; he hadn't even been given a single phone call. And who knew what they were doing to his beloved wife and son.

After they'd been arrested, the two of them had been kept side by side in the two large, open cells within Blackmore's Police Station for twenty-four hours before a group of burly men in dark suits had pulled them from the cells and bundled them into a pair of unmarked black cars. He'd been taken to somewhere in London after that while he had no idea where Petunia had been taken since she'd been in a different car. He'd then been housed in a solitary cell that had no windows or bars (just a single door) for three days; never seeing anyone, not even the person that had delivered his meals through the flap on the bottom of his cell door.

He'd ranted and raved when he'd been rudely pulled from his bed early that morning. As he'd been dragged from his room by the two silent guards that had come to collect him, Vernon had vacillated between indignation, anger, and abject fear over what was happening to him. Vernon's thoughts were brought back to the present at that moment when the door to the room finally opened once more to admit two people whose faces he couldn't see clearly because of the shadows cloaking their faces.

"You have some nerve keeping me here like this! I demand to talk to my lawyer; I know my rights!"

"Be silent; Mr. Dursley," a man's cold voice ordered in a commanding tone. The man's next words then chilled Vernon to the bone. "Anthea, turn off the cameras."

"Already taken care of, sir; there will be no witnesses to this meeting," a woman's voice replied without hesitation.

"Excellent work. Now that we have a bit of privacy, Mr. Dursley, there are a few questions I would like to ask you."

"I don't have to tell you anything," Vernon blustered as he tried not to reveal just how scared he was now.

"On the contrary, you will tell me everything," the man countered. "A lack of cooperation on your part is inadvisable; the consequences will be most unpleasant."

"You can't threaten me…"

"Oh, I wasn't threatening you, Mr. Dursley. I don't make threats, I make promises; and I never go back on my word."

"Who the ruddy hell are you? Are you one of those freaks? I tell you, I won't stand for it! I am a law abiding man and you have no right to keep me here. I am not one of you ruddy wand waving dandies and I know your kind can't hold our kind!"

The man's response to that was a low laugh that sent shivers down Vernon's back before he replied, "Oh, I have no need of magic to make you disappear, Mr. Dursley. All it would take is a few simple keystrokes on my laptop and I can erase your entire existence far more thoroughly than any spell and no one would even miss you. I am the long arm of Her Majesty's Law and you have been a very naughty boy, Mr. Dursley."

The man finally stepped into the light so that Vernon could see him and Vernon didn't even feel the urine pouring down his leg and soaking his pants as he pissed himself and whispered, "Y…you, you're Mycroft Holmes."

"Correct."

"What do you want with me?"

"I want answers, Mr. Dursleys. You and your wife have upset Her Majesty and a number of other very important people; including my little brother – and that was your second mistake. Your first mistake was to think you could get away with abusing a child."

"We never hit him!"

"No, you just belittled him and kept him locked up in a closet."

"What were we supposed to do? The freak went and used his freakishness! We were protecting our family!"

"Come now, Mr. Dursley; you and I both know that is not true. You called him names, coldly caged him like an animal, withheld basic necessities, and tormented him with lies about his heritage because you are a prejudiced bigot."

"I want to see my lawyer," Vernon repeated for the hundredth time since he'd been arrested less than a week ago; though his voice was far less demanding and far more desperate now.

"There will be no lawyer or trial for you, Mr. Dursley; you're being held for treason against the Crown."

"What!? You can't do that to me!"

"On the contrary, Mr. Dursley, I can. Do you know what happens to those individuals that dare attack or harm a member of the nobility?"

"I never…!" Vernon protested.

"Yes, you did. You kidnapped the only surviving heir to a very old and very prestigious dukedom. The only surviving member of a family that was descended from ancient royalty; a family that once had very close ties to Her Majesty's family and she is most displeased with you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Didn't you know, Mr. Dursley? Your nephew is the heir apparent to the dukedom of Lyonesse; he stands to become the third richest man in the country once he reaches his majority and he will one day be a politically powerful man due to titles he is entitled to inherit."

"We didn't kidnap him! He was dumped on our doorstep!"

"And yet, neither you nor your wife ever filed for custody of your nephew."

"How could we? There was no birth certificate! We had no way to prove he was Petunia's nephew. The freaks dumped him on us without so much as a by-your-leave along with a cold note telling Petunia that her no good sister was dead and that the whelp was now our responsibility. They threatened us in that letter! Told us we'd have to take the brat in or we'd be tortured and killed by the same freaks that killed the boy's parents!"

"Two wrongs don't make a right, Mr. Dursley; and a simple blood test would have confirmed the child's relationship to your wife," Mr. Holmes countered in a cold tone. "Then you further damned yourself by the deplorable way you treated an _innocent_ child in your care. A mere babe that had just been through a traumatic experience that had ripped him from the loving arms of his parents and left him all alone in the world bar your family. And instead of offering him comfort; you lied to him about the fate of his parents, shunned him, demeaned him, allowed your son to bully him, and used him as your personal servant. And then when your son injured him so severely that he was permanently blinded, you locked him away in a closet and treated him as something less than an animal."

"It was an accident!"

"Then why did you and your wife flee like criminals instead of trying to get help? Going so far as to move from your childhood home and sink to stuffing your nephew into a suitcase in order to hide his presence during the move? You and your wife hadn't even bothered taking him to the hospital after he'd first been injured."

"He healed himself, we had no way to contact the other freaks about what happened, and if we'd taken him to a normal hospital they wouldn't have believed us about what happened. We were afraid. Those freaks don't care about what happens to us normal folks!"

"No; you were fools. Had you approached the police when the child first turned up on your porch, your situation would have been brought to my attention immediately and I could have taken care of things to see that you and your family were taken care of and protected; including your nephew. Instead, you let your fear govern you and you nearly destroyed your nephew with your pettiness. Your wife also attempted to obstruct justice after your nephew witnessed a brutal murder."

"What are you talking about?"

"Mr. Potter witnessed Mrs. Roberts's murder and told your wife as much; she in turn punished him for telling her what he had seen and she failed to report critical evidence of a crime to the proper authorities. Your nephew's account of the events that took place on the morning of the thirty-first led to the capture of one of the four suspects involved in the case. If your wife had come forward the moment Mr. Potter informed her of what he'd seen, all four suspects could have been apprehended within forty-eight hours of the murder."

"I didn't know," Vernon breathed wearily as the last of his anger fled as reality came crashing down on him; he and his wife had messed up big time. The decisions they'd made had seemed to be their only choices at the time but looking back, he could finally see just how badly they'd messed up.

"Are you ready to cooperate now, Mr. Dursley? Or shall I leave you to Her Majesty's Mercy?"

"I'll cooperate," Vernon replied; he knew he had no choice.

"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Dursley," Mr. Holmes replied as he smiled coldly at Vernon. "You can start by telling me what you know about the individual who placed Mr. Potter on your doorstep eight years ago."

"We never saw who put him there; Petunia found him in the morning when she stepped outside to set out the empty milk bottles for the milkman. The letter we found with the boy was signed by the freak that ran the unnatural school that Petunia's sister had gone to as a child. The man's name was something utterly ridiculous and sounded made up; Albert Fumblebore or something like that. Petunia knew who he was."

"Do you remember what his letter said? Did you or your wife keep the letter or did you toss it in the rubbish?"

"No, I never read the letter. Petunia tried to burn it several times but the paper it was written on was unnatural. She tried throwing it away a couple of times but the next day she'd find it back on the counter of the kitchen. Petunia finally hid it away but I don't know where."

The questioning would last well into the night and by the time he was returned to his private cell, Vernon's head was pounding and he felt emotionally and physically wrung out.

Alone again at last, for the first time since he was a child, Vernon Dursleys wept bitter tears of regret.

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><p><strong>Terms:<strong>

Agoraphobia – the fear of open spaces or large crowds  
>Agoraphobic – one who is afraid of open spaces or large crowds<p>

**Notes:**

I tried to pull off the Ice Man in this chapter but I don't think I managed to capture Mycroft properly. I at least think I managed to portray his interrogation of Vernon far more intimidating than his questioning of Harry. I also tried to make Vernon out to be more human and less of a monster that far too many FanFics make him out to be (something I am guilty of in a few of my stories – though not in all of them). People do stupid things when their frightened.


	11. Invasive Intrusions

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

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><p><span>Chapter Ten: Invasive Intrusions<span>

_Saturday, November 11, 1989 11:45 A.M.  
>221B Baker Street, London, England<em>

John deftly sliced a nectarine for part of Harry's lunch while Sherlock lectured Harry on the proper way to care for a violin. The man had decided that he just had to teach Harry how to play the violin. Harry actually eagerly cooperated for those lessons (which so far had consisted of a detailed lesson on the anatomy of a violin and the current discussion on violin care). The boy had a deep love of music that surpassed even Sherlock's appreciation of the art of fine music (which excluded most of the popular genres).

Sherlock had played far more pieces over the past week than he normally played in a full month just to entertain the child (according to Mrs. Hudson); though the other man claimed he was experimenting the one time John had confronted him about it.

There had been a few times John had gotten the feeling that Sherlock knew something he didn't about their young guest; and while that in itself wasn't anything new, he couldn't help but feel on edge because of it. Sherlock also hadn't shared any more of what he'd learned from Mycroft about the boy and his family with John or Harry (the latter only because Harry hadn't asked for more information – or so John suspected). There were a few scattered moments when he'd seen his friend watching the child with an analytical gaze and a small frown; as if Sherlock was unhappy with something he'd learned about the child.

Shaking his head, John pushed his ruminations to the back of his mind as he placed the nectarine slices on Harry's plate before he carried both the plate and the glass of milk he'd poured out to the dining room. Once he'd arranged those items on the placemat, he turned to watch Sherlock interacting with the nine year old.

The taller man was seated Indian style on the couch with Harry nestled on his lap. Sherlock's much loved violin was balanced on the child's lap and Sherlock had his arms around the boy as he deftly guided Harry's smaller hands along the contours of the violin with a cleaning cloth. Sherlock's chin was resting lightly on the boy's left shoulder so he could both watch what he was doing and whisper quietly into the boy's ears as they polished the wood of the instrument.

They painted a surprisingly domestic image that was so at odds with the Sherlock that John had come to know over the years. It also reminded him of the way that Sherlock had allowed the child to curl up on his lap in the back of Greg's car with his trench coat draped over the child like a blanket the night they'd rescued the boy. Despite the tenderness both scenes had implied, John knew better than to assume that Sherlock had any interest in accepting parental responsibility for Harry.

There would come a day when Sherlock's interest in the child waned and John almost dreaded that moment because he feared that Harry would be crushed. It was inevitable that the child would become very attached to Sherlock if the man continued to interact with him so intimately (and no, there was no inappropriateness in those interactions). Such a bond itself would be harmless and under normal circumstances something to be encouraged but it would also be a double edged sword that would cut deeply when Sherlock inevitably closed himself off from the child.

The loss of a close bond in such a way could potentially devastate the child and further complicate his integration back into society.

"Stop thinking so loudly, John; you are distracting us," Sherlock ordered rather abruptly; drawing John out of his inner musings. "We are in the middle of an important lesson."

"My apologies, gentlemen," John replied with exaggerated politeness that was a touch pompous. "Do try to wrap up the lesson in a timely manner, Harry needs to eat lunch."

Sherlock snorted in response to John's antics but obligingly wrapped up the lesson on violin care; set meal times for Harry was one of the few activities that he didn't interfere with. Establishing a structured routine, loose though it was, for the blind child had been important in order to help further reduce the child's anxiety while he was still adjusting to his new environment. Keeping him occupied, both mentally and physically, had also been important because it gave him less time to dwell on his negative memories.

John let his thoughts wander once more as he made his way back to the kitchen in order to dish up his plate. He paused briefly when he realized that Harry had been with them for full week now and he marveled over how quickly the child had integrated himself into their lives. That made him wonder if it was Harry's adaptability (something all children seemed to possess in spades) that allowed him to fit in so soon or if he and Sherlock had unconsciously adjusted their lives to include the child.

_It's probably a bit of both,_ John finally decided as he picked up his cup of tea and grabbed his plate before returning to the sitting room.

The doctor was pleased to see that Harry was already sitting at the table as he walked up and set his lunch down at his seat beside the child. He was also pleased to note that the boy had already started on the meal; the child no longer needed anyone to tell him where everything was sitting since John had made it a point to establish a specific placement for each item (plate and silverware in the center of the placemat, drink in the upper right corner, extras – such as crackers – in the upper left, condiments to the right of the placemat, and napkins to the left). Sherlock was standing in front of the fireplace as he played a soothing and smooth flowing if unfamiliar melody while staring at the skull on the mantel.

As John took his seat he caught the sound of someone ringing the downstairs buzzer. His curiosity was piqued for a moment (anyone who visited their flat usually just walked right in unless it was after dark and the door was locked) before he dismissed the visitor when he heard Mrs. Hudson cheerfully greet whoever was at the door. He had already begun to make great inroads into the thick chicken sandwich he'd made for himself when he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice growing louder as she escorted what sounded like two individuals up the stairs.

Beside him, Harry tensed and took a sharp breath before he let out a soft whimper. John turned to the nine year old in concern at the same time as Mrs. Hudson knocked on their flat door. As John caught sight of the look of absolute fear on Harry's face, the door to the flat opened as Mrs. Hudson entered the room leading the visitors. Confused, John glanced back up towards the door as Mrs. Hudson spoke up.

"Boys, there are a couple of gentlemen here to see you about an urgent matter," Mrs. Hudson announced as she held the door wide open to allow the two men behind her to enter the room.

The next three minutes would be yet another one those heart stopping moments that would be forever ingrained in John's memories.

He'd just started to rise from his chair when the shorter of the two visitors had grabbed hold of Mrs. Hudson around the waist, pulled her back against his chest, and flicked open a large folding knife as she let out a startled cry before falling silent. At the same time, Harry a sharp cry of denial as he threw himself backwards hard enough to tip his chair over and spill him out onto the ground. Behind him, Sherlock's violin made a loud squealing sound as he spun around to face the door.

"Stay where ye are and don't move or the ole lady here get's it," the short man growled out in a thick Irish accent. "Rhys, take care of the boyo."

The tall man, Rhys, drew a pistol from beneath the blazer he was wearing as he moved further into the room. John felt a spike of anger rush through him in response to the threats that had just been leveled at Mrs. Hudson and Harry and he abruptly wished that he had not locked his pistol in his desk to keep it safely out of Harry's reach. A discreet glance towards the floor revealed Harry kneeling on the floor, frozen in fear.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Sherlock calmly stated. "This flat is under twenty-four hour surveillance and the authorities are already on their way. Even if you were to kill all four of us; you will not escape."

"Shut yer gob, Holmes," the short Irishman ordered as the knife he held dug into Mrs. Hudson's throat just deep enough to draw blood and the landlady let out a sharp cry of pain.

The multiple soft twangs of several violin strings snapping filled the air; the Irishman had just pissed Sherlock off and John hid a wince. Sherlock was not very forgiving of those who threatened those he cared about and those who actually hurt them didn't always live to regret their folly. The soldier in John was already planning his next three moves out as he mentally prepared himself for Sherlock's response to Mrs. Hudson's injury. Firmly under the belief that Harry was still frozen in fear on the floor, he was caught completely off guard (along with everyone else in the room) by Harry's rather explosive reaction to the situation.

"No! No! **No**! _No more blood!_" Harry yelled angrily as he surged to his feet.

A muffled whump, that reminded John of an exploding artillery shell, filled the room a split second before a powerful shockwave blasted through the room causing all of the windows to explode outwards. The scent of ozone and a crackle of electricity followed as both intruders were unexpectedly thrown backwards by an invisible force. Mrs. Hudson cried out a second time as the knife scored her neck again as her attacker was ripped away from her. At the same time, the man named Rhys aimed his pistol at Harry and pulled the trigger just before he was slammed into the walled and knocked unconscious as the report from the pistol rang out through the flat.

Before he even registered the discharge of the handgun, John had thrown himself from his chair to knock Harry out of the line of fire. The two of them hit the ground hard and rolled as the bullet buried itself in the broken music box on the table just a few feet behind where Harry had been standing. John recovered quickly and protectively gathered Harry into his arms as he scrambled to his feet. He then left Sherlock to deal with their attackers and protect Mrs. Hudson as he rushed for the stairs leading to his bedroom to get Harry out of the line of fire and to grab one of his spare guns. The fire escape was also accessible through his room and would offer a way out of the building if it became necessary for him to flee the flat to protect the child.

Once in his room, John shut and locked the door before he hurried towards his closet; making sure to keep low so as not to present an easy target for anyone watching his window. He took a moment to look Harry over as he set him on the ground out of view of the door and found him to be unconscious. John hoped the kid hadn't hit his head on the floor when he'd tackled him out of the way but didn't let the possibility worry him at the moment. He then stood up to grab the box of ammunition he'd never found the time to move out of his room before he dug out one of the old revolvers he had boxed up.

As he loaded the chambers with bullets and stuffed a handful of extra bullets into his pocket, he carefully made his way to the window to search for any indication that the two intruders below had someone else working with them. When he didn't see anyone suspicious hanging around in the alley behind the building, he moved back to where he'd set Harry and crouched down to position himself protectively in front of Harry (and to also make himself less of a target). Now it was just a matter of waiting for the all clear to come from Sherlock or a follow up attack to come from one of their two attackers.

As the silence continued to drag on, John flicked his eyes to his nightstand where he kept a digital alarm clock to mark the time and frowned when he noticed that the power was out. He then dug out his cell phone to check the time and call Greg for backup; only to find that his phone was dead. Cursing his luck, John tucked the phone back into his pocket and listened for the telltale sounds of someone attempting to climb his stairs before he turned his attention back to Harry long enough to make certain he was still breathing and check to see if there was any indication he would be waking up soon.

"John, the flat has been secured, the cavalry has finally arrived, and Mrs. Hudson needs your talents," Sherlock called up the stairs just as John was finishing his visual inspection of the child while he knocked on the wall in to give the 'all clear' sign in Morse code to prove he was not being coerced.

"I'll be down shortly," John called back at the same time as he knocked out a response of 'message received' on the floor; a system the two men had formed years earlier after the first time they'd been attacked at home.

Taking a deep breath, John set the safety on his revolver and tucked it into his waistline where it would be close at hand if it was needed. He then climbed to his feet and checked his window to make certain that the alley was still clear before he gently collected Harry from the floor and headed back down to the living room. As he stepped down off of the bottom step, John finally got a good look at the sitting room.

The entire room had been trashed; the lighter furniture had been knocked over, the windows destroyed, knickknacks swept from their perches, pictures and paintings knocked from the walls, and anything made of delicate glass cracked or smashed beyond repair. It looked as if a bomb had gone off in the room. At the time it had happened, it has certainly felt and sounded like a bomb had been detonated within the room.

"What happened to Harry?" Sherlock demanded as he stepped up beside John to stare at the unconscious child in his arms; the man for once using the child's actual given name.

"I believe he passed out; either from shock or because he hit his head when I tackled him out of the line of fire."

"Or he exhausted himself during his outburst. Give him to me; Mrs. Hudson is waiting for you behind my curtain. Your first aide kit is there as well."

John didn't hesitate to pass Harry over to Sherlock; absently noting his flat mate's bruised knuckles as he did so. He then hurried over to Sherlock's private sitting area so he could tend to Mrs. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson, it's John; I've come to take a look at your injuries," John announced before he ducked behind the curtain to join the older woman.

"Oh, John! I feel so horrible! I never thought those two men were here to harm anyone. They seemed so sincere when they told me that they needed Sherlock's help. I can't believe they suckered me in like that. You'd think I would know better by now after all of the trouble that you and Sherlock have been involved in through the years. They didn't hurt little Harry, did they? The poor dear; why would they wish to harm such a sweet child? "

"He'll be fine, Mrs. Hudson," John assured the distraught and angry woman as he lowered the tea towel that she'd been using to stop the bleeding so he could gauge the seriousness of the two wounds. "And I believe those two men were looking to silence Harry; he is the only witness to a brutal murder that occurred during a robbery gone wrong. That is on top of the unpleasant mess with his relatives. I thought Sherlock had warned you that he was here for his protection or I would have said something myself."

"He did tell me that the child was in protective custody but I assumed that the two of you were protecting him from whomever it was that had mistreated him."

"Sherlock probably led you to believe that in order to avoid making you worry; he knows how protective you are when it comes to children. It doesn't look like you need to worry about having either cut stitched up; they are fairly shallow and shouldn't scar too terribly. I'm going to disinfect them and wrap them up for you now. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I've have a few bruises from where that man grabbed me but aside from that and the cuts on my neck, I am fine. I'm not in any pain either; the cuts only sting a bit. I could use a strong cup of tea to calm my nerves though."

"I'll make you some myself as soon as I finish bandaging your neck," John promised as he used some liquid plaster to seal the small cut shut before he used several butterfly bandages coupled with more liquid plaster to hold the larger cut closed. He then gently pressed a large absorbent cotton pad over both cuts before he gently swaddled her neck with gauze to hold the pad in place. "All done."

"Thank you, dear."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Hudson. And for the record, Sherlock and I are both relieved and grateful beyond words that you are alright."

John packed up his first aide kit before he set it back on the seat of the couch (Sherlock would need it for his hands at some point) and left Mrs. Hudson to collect herself (she was still rather shaken up over what had happened even if she was putting on a brave face). He then headed for the kitchen to start the tea as promised. As he went to light the burner on the stove, he discovered that the igniter wasn't working; the electricity in the flat still out. Huffing in annoyance, he snagged one of Sherlock's spare matchbooks so that he could light the stove and singed the tips of his fingers as a result.

While he waited for the water to boil, he prepared a tray of crackers, cheese, summer sausage, and cut vegetables when he recalled that their afternoon meal had been interrupted. He also grabbed the tin of chocolate biscuits he'd been saving for a special occasion; they could all use a little comfort food right now. After setting the tea leaves to steeping, he got out the ranch dip from the refrigerator and set the tub on the tray with the rest of the food. The last thing he did was grab plates, saucers, and cups before he removed the tea leaves and carried everything out into the sitting room.

Mrs. Hudson took control of the refreshments at that time and John allowed her to do so since he knew playing hostess for everyone would help her regain her equilibrium. He then turned to look for Sherlock and found him brooding on the couch absently fingering his damaged violin with one hand while the other tapped out an irritated pattern on the couch's arm; Harry once more draped across his lap.

The sound of footsteps moving up the staircase had John swinging his gaze to the open flat door as his hand unconsciously dropped down to the handle of his revolver. The moment that Inspector Lestrade, Mycroft, and Anthea walked into his line of sight, he dropped his hand and let himself relax a touch.

"I thought you said Grumpy and friends were here to prevent this kind of thing from happening, Mycroft," Sherlock bit out acidly as his fingers stilled and he swung his gaze around to glare at his brother.

"There were here to protect Mr. Potter from an entirely different threat," Mycroft countered with a slight frown as he took in the current state of the flat. "It was my understanding that Mr. Potter's status as the witness to Mrs. Roberts's murder and his presence here with the two of you was to be limited in order to prevent the suspects from attempting to silence him or I would have provided additional security."

"As bad as this was, you'll be happy to know that we also nabbed a man that we believe was the fourth and final suspect involved in Mrs. Roberts's murder; a couple of the boys just pulled him out of a diaper delivery van that roughly matched the partial description that Mr. Potter provided to us last weekend," Greg interjected before Sherlock could make a snide comment in response to Mycroft's statements. "The vehicle is being swept for clues right now before we haul it back to the impound yard. All that's left to do is for me to collect the statements from John and Mr. Potter."

"I can give you my statement right now, Greg. It will be a while before you can get Harry's though; he fell unconscious during the ordeal and he's not yet woken up."

"Was he injured by one of the suspects?" Mycroft demanded as he sent a sharp glance towards the child.

"No, but it is possible that he hit his head on the ground when I tackled him out of the way of the bullet that was fired at him by the taller of the two men. If he doesn't wake up in the next hour, I will take him down to Bart's to have him checked over."

"He's exhausted; he made quite a mess in his anger after the Irishman drew blood from Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock added as he resumed playing with the snapped strings of his violin.

"Yes, I noticed; he knocked out the power on the entire street and shorted out all of the active electronics that were within a hundred meters of your flat. The initial estimated cost of the damage he caused was eighty-thousand pounds and that was not even taking into consideration the personal property he destroyed."

"Hold on; why are the two of you blaming Harry for the sonic explosion that occurred?"

"That was no sonic explosion, Dr. Watson; that was a rather impressive outburst of accidental magic caused by a very distressed and very powerful young wizard," Mycroft corrected as he glanced in John's direction. "Unfortunately, his little display will have caught the attention of the Ministry of Magic and they will have deployed an investigative unit to search the area for the source of the outburst. My men are here to prevent their people from finding Mr. Potter in order to protect him from several dangerous individuals and criminals that share his gift."

"I think I'm getting too old for this kind of excitement; I could have sworn I just heard your brother use the word magic, Sherlock," John deadpanned as he stared at Mycroft in disbelief.

"Yes, I find it highly illogical to use such a frivolous word to describe the energy that our young friend here wields."

"Wait a minute; did you just say you believed that tripe about magic, Sherlock?" John demanded as he jerked around to stare at his friend. "Maybe I was the one who hit my head earlier."

"As hard as it is to believe, magic does exist, John; the wizards have their own little hidden society," Greg stated in all seriousness. "I have to work with their law enforcement department occasionally when one of theirs commits a crime on our side of the fence. They are the biggest bunch of self-centered ingrates I've ever had the displeasure of working with; bar a small handful of individuals. There are all kinds of rules and laws they have against sharing that information with those of us that have no magic unless we have clearance through our jobs or family. Come on, I'll fill you in a bit after I get your statement; I thought you had already been told after last weekend or I would have given you a heads up sooner."

Greg started to lead him towards the exit (so he could take his statement downstairs in relative privacy) when their building was invaded a second time. This time it was by a strangely dressed old man and a stranger bird that appeared from out of nowhere right in a swirl of flames on the landing outside of the flat.

The man looked like he was auditioning for the part of Merlin in a fantasy movie with his overly long white hair and beard, fancy purple robes chased with silver, pointed wizard's hat, and carved stick he held in his right hand. The bird seemed rather ordinary by contrast if you discarded the fact that it looked nothing like any bird he'd ever seen and had been coated in flames when it first arrived but appeared completely untouched by fire as it landed on the man's shoulder.

"I suspected that you or one of your subordinates would be showing up here, Mr. Dumbledore," Mycroft stated as he turned to glance at the new arrival.

"Mr. Holmes. I see that you greatly overestimated your ability to keep Mr. Potter safe; just as I feared you would when you insisted upon interfering with the previous arrangements I had made to protect the child," Dumbledore stated in a disappointed tone that nearly had both John and Sherlock gaping in shock over the audacity of the man addressing _Mycroft_ in that manner. "I have managed to stall Cornelius for the moment but it won't be long until the general public becomes aware that Mr. Potter is here in London and completely unprotected. Maybe now you will finally see reason and hand Mr. Potter over and release his relatives so that I can reestablish the protections that have hidden him for the past eight years."

"No," Sherlock countered in a bored tone. "The child was not harmed and the threat was removed in a timely manner long before you so rudely popped into our home without permission. You're so called vaunted protection led to the child being permanently blinded and locked up like a wild animal for the last five years. He will stay here."

"The dangerously large outburst of accidental magic that was centered in this very room was felt by every single magical creature and being within a hundred miles and openly advertised Mr. Potter's current position to our entire world. He will not be safe here," Dumbledore retorted with a frown as he swept into the room without even asking for permission and made his way to the couch. "As to whether or not Mr. Potter is unharmed; that remains to be seen."

John automatically followed the man, his military instincts kicking in once more. He palmed his revolver the moment the man pointed the stick in his hand at Harry and began waving it around when he stopped in front of the couch. He then positioned himself so that he would have a clear shot if he needed to shoot the man and so that he was close enough that there was little chance he would miss his target or hit a friend (or Mycroft).

"No," Dumbledore breathed as his hand stilled suddenly; his face taking on an ashen hue.

The bird perched on the man's shoulder then began singing a mournful and otherworldly song that made John ache for some nameless something that had been lost. On Sherlock's lap, Harry stirred in response to the bird's singing and John knew the exact instant that the child opened his eyes as the old man he was covering flinched the moment he looked into the nine year old's dead eyes.

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><p><strong>Terms:<strong> Irish Slang

Boyo – boy (Irish Slang)  
>Gob – mouth<br>Ole – old

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> _Whew *wipes brow* you have no idea how hard this chapter was to write when I first wrote it. I couldn't write a Sherlock Holmes crossover without integrating some trouble of the criminal kind seeking Sherlock & John out at home though. I hope it lived up to everyone's expectations for those who were wondering what had happened to the 'bad guys'. _

_I suppose I should also apologize for the cliffhanger I've left this chapter on but the next section was far too large to tack onto this chapter. At least you can take heart in knowing that the next fifteen or twenty chapters are fully written and mostly prepared for posting aside from last minute formatting clean up; so you can expect the next update in 3-4 days as usual. =) ~ Jenn_


	12. Child's Champion

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

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><p><span>Chapter Eleven: Child's Champion<span>

_Saturday, November 11, 1989 1:33 P.M.  
>221B Baker Street, London, England<em>

Harry was reluctantly dragged back to consciousness by the beautiful but sad song he could hear. The song called to the Namelessness inside of him but there wasn't enough of the Namelessness left inside of him to answer the call and he could already feel the faint ache of burning pain from pushing the Namelessness too far. He knew he should tell Mr. Homes to stop playing but he didn't want the beautiful song to end. He also wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep; he still felt very tired.

The call of the song was relentless though and so Harry eventually forced his eyes to open. Through the fog of sleepiness that filled his mind, Harry registered several things; the room was far too cold, the noise of London was once again too loud, he was laying on someone's lap, and along side the familiar scents of tobacco, leather, and chemicals that filled the flat was the scent of sweet lemons, hot ashes, electricity, and a dirty, choking scent that soon blocked out everything else. Over it all, the song continued to play.

As his mind attempted to process everything he could sense, Harry cried out and tried to burrow into the person he was laying on. The moment he began to move, the burning pain from the Namelessness fully ignited and he cried out a second time as the pain coursed through his veins like lightning.

"Lestrade, fetch me my coat from behind you," Mr. Holmes's voice ordered from somewhere close to Harry as the mournful song finally stopped playing. "Mycroft, make yourself useful and fetch me one of the blankets from his bedroom before you start a fire in the fireplace." Someone then leaned very close to Harry, he thought it might be Mr. Holmes, and calmly instructed, "Harry, listen to me; you need to focus on your breathing; breathe in and breathe out, slow and steady. Ignore everything else."

Part of Harry recognized Mr. Holmes's voice as the calm voice that had spoken to him the night he'd been taken from his relatives. He trusted that voice. He trusted Mr. Holmes. And so he focused on the instructions and tried to block everything else out as he took a deep breathe only to choke when the choking scent filled his lungs.

"Allow me to be of assistance," an unfamiliar voice intoned before a soft sizzle cut through the air followed by the sudden whoosh of flames bursting into existence.

Footsteps then approached the couch just seconds before Harry was engulfed in warmth and the heavy scent of tobacco smoke as someone draped Mr. Holmes's trench coat over the nine year old. The coat helped to block out everything but the smell and Harry fisted in hands in the material to press it close to his nose as he held his breath.

"No, do not hold your breath, Harry; it will not help," Mr. Holmes's calm voice ordered as hands tucked the coat around Harry's small form. "Slow and steady; breathe in and breathe out."

"It chokes," Harry gasped before he coughed again.

"The curse of London's polluted skies," Mrs. Hudson's voice stated from somewhere in the room. "It takes some getting used to."

"And we no longer have windows to shield him from the full brunt of our dirty skies," Dr. Watson added from very close by.

"I can help with that as well," the earlier unfamiliar voice stated before the terrible choking scent suddenly disappeared along with most of the noisy sounds of London on the heels of another sharp blast of sizzling air that made the burning pain rushing through his veins flare briefly.

Harry relaxed and sucked in several deep breaths while ignoring the way each breath made his body ache. His ears then picked up the sound of a large bird flapping its wings before he heard the sound of talons sliding across leather as the bird landed somewhere close by on the couch. The earlier scent of burning ash washed over him again along with the scent of spices and bird. An inquisitive chirp sounded before something pecked at the fabric that covered Harry's head and face.

"Fawkes will not harm him, Mr. Holmes; phoenixes are drawn to innocent children and Fawkes has always been very fond of Mr. Potter," the unfamiliar voice stated when Mr. Holmes tried to shoo the bird away.

"Harry is not currently up to being studied by strange birds; he just suffered a panic attack due to sensory overload," Mr. Holmes countered as a blanket was placed over top of the coat covering Harry. Mr. Holmes then addressed Harry once more as he asked, "Why are you not focusing on your breathing, child?"

"Hurts," Harry replied as he once again attempted to curl up into Mr. Holmes's stomach.

"What hurts?"

"The Namelessness is too far gone. It burns."

"I am not surprised; you gave us quite an impressive and explosive display earlier," Mr. Holmes murmured. "We'll need to work on your control over both your emotions and the Namelessness; least you exhaust yourself needlessly every time you grow angry."

"The thing you are childishly calling the namelessness is actually your magic, Mr. Potter," the unfamiliar man corrected. "And the child will not be able to learn how to control his magic, Mr. Holmes. His magical core is fractured and has been for quite some time. You would do well not to encourage him to play with fire as his magic is quite explosive in its current state; he could easily do great harm, even in his current exhausted state, as evidenced by the current disarray in your abode."

"There's no such thing as magic," Harry automatically corrected.

"Of course magic exists, my dear boy," the newly named Mr. Dumbledore countered.

"Mr. Dumbledore, please explain what it is you meant when you said Mr. Potter's core was fractured," the older Mr. Holmes instructed before Harry could argue back. "I would also appreciate it if you would tell us what having a fractured magical core would mean for Mr. Potter."

"A wizard's magical core is what produces and stores his magic; think of it as the dam that holds and regulates the flood waters that are a wizard's magic. In a normal core, the dam is unbroken; preventing the wizard's magic from flooding his body. In a young wizard, that dam is weak and will occasionally overflow in response to strong emotions; causing an outburst of uncontrolled magic. Once a wizard reaches his eleventh birthday, his core is strong enough to establish an outside connection to his core using a focus that will allow him to siphon off a portion of his magic and use it to affect his environment; similar to shunting water from a dam to a kitchen sink through a pipe."

"Mr. Potter's core is fractured; meaning that it is unable to hold his magic in check. His magic has been flooding his body for a considerable time and mixing freely with his blood. Mixing magic and blood is dangerous; blood magic is some of the most potent magic that exists and those who practice that form of magic only pour a very small amount of magic into freshly spilled blood using their wand. Mr. Potter's blood is saturated in magic as his broken core continues to spill his magic into his body; turning the child into what amounts to a walking time bomb. His explosive outburst a short while ago was just a small example of the damage he could do if he should lose his temper again."

"Is there a way to fix his core?" Dr. Watson inquired with open concern.

"No. The damage is far too old. All that can be done for him now is to bind his core permanently to stop the influx of magic pouring into his body."

Harry's breath hitched; the Dumbledore man wanted to take away the Namelessness. To steal the Namelessness from him and forever lock away the colors the Namelessness painted for him. Fear and anger filled Harry; he didn't want to be trapped in The Darkness for the rest of his life.

"No! You can't! You can't take away the Namelessness! You can't take away the colors from me again!" Harry cried as he fought his way free of the coat and blanket while ignoring the pain that burned through his body. "I don't want to be trapped in The Darkness again."

"Well, that settles it; the child's core will remain unbound," Mr. Holmes declared as he rearranged the covers around Harry and helped him to sit up.

"The decision is not up to you, Mr. Holmes; by law, I am required to bind Mr. Potter's core to protect him and those around him from the danger he represents."

A soft snick followed by a loud click sounded through the room before Harry heard Dr. Watson address Mr. Dumbledore in a cold, hard voice, "Lower your wand nice and slowly, Mr. Dumbledore, or I will pull the trigger."

"Gentlemen, you do not understand what you are dealing with here; Mr. Potter's magic has become an uncontrollable threat and his core must be bound before it kills him or someone close to him."

"I am not having a very good day, Mr. Dumbledore," Dr. Watson stated in that same cold voice. "Two men dared to attack us in our home less than two hours ago; threatening a very dear friend of ours and the child we were asked to protect. And now you dare to stand here, in the middle of our house after barging in here without permission, and threaten him further? I may have failed to prevent the earlier incident before someone was injured but I will not fail a second time. Now lower your wand."

"You are making a big mistake, young man…"

"Mr. Dumbledore, it is you who are making the mistake. As I informed you when we spoke earlier this week; Mr. Potter is now under the protection of the Crown and you are overstepping your boundaries," the other Mr. Holmes interjected at that point.

"Mr. Holmes, be reasonable…"

"Do not make me invoke the Crown's Directive and forcefully dissolve the treaty that granted your society autonomy from the Crown at the turn of the nineteenth century to protect Mr. Potter from your well meaning but misguided intentions, Mr. Dumbledore," the older Mr. Holmes interrupted in a voice that had gone even colder and more menacing than Dr. Watson's.

"How do you know about that, Mr. Holmes?" Mr. Dumbledore demanded in shock. "The knowledge of the Crown's Directive and how to invoke it were purported to have been lost more than eighty years ago."

"My great-great grandfather was the one who wrote the original treaty between our societies, Mr. Dumbledore; Mordecai Holmes was meticulous when it came to keeping records of his interactions with King George III. That included very clear instructions on how to invoke the Crown's Directive should there ever come a time when your society needed to be brought to heel. I very nearly invoked the Directive nine years ago when it became obvious that your government was on the verge of falling to the terrorists that you allowed to flourish during the sixties and seventies."

"You don't have the authority to invoke the Crown's Directive; only the rightful ruler…"

"As far as the wizarding society is concerned, I am the British Government and Her Majesty's Voice, Mr. Dumbledore. I assure, I do indeed have the authority to bring your society to heel. Even if I didn't, I am close enough to Her Majesty that obtaining her permission to invoke the Directive would take naught but one phone call."

Harry didn't really understand what Mr. Holmes's brother and the Dumbledore man were talking about (and he really didn't care). All he knew was that the stranger was arguing with the three men that had been nice to him since Mr. Holmes had rescued him from his closet and he was scared that the nice men would be hurt because they were trying to protect him. His attention was briefly pulled from the argument when he heard a soft trill of bird song from beside him before a beak began running through his hair.

Harry cringed away from the unexpected touch before he relaxed when Mr. Holmes placed a hand on his shoulder. The bird warbled out a soothing tune before it climbed down into Harry's lap and nuzzled his chin and face and he couldn't help but let out a soft giggle when its feathers tickled his nose. Harry brought his hands up to carefully run his fingers through the bird's feathers as the bird resumed grooming his hair; the scent of burning ash, spice, and bird filling his nose once more.

He marveled over the feel of the bird's feathers; rigid yet soft. He was also a bit surprised that the bird felt so light when it was so big (the bird partially hanging off the side of his lap). And the bird was warm; like a hot water bottle that was almost too hot to touch. His attention was pulled back to the conversation going on around him at that point as the older Mr. Holmes raised his voice.

"You will swear an Unbreakable Vow right now, Mr. Dumbledore, or I will invoke the Crown's Directive; the Crown will protect Mr. Potter one way or another, by Her Majesty's order."

"Very well, Mr. Holmes," Mr. Dumbledore acquiesced after a long minute of silence.

Two sets of footsteps soon left the room and Harry heard another loud click followed by an explosive sigh. Someone then dropped down onto the couch in the corner where Harry used to sleep before Mr. Holmes had made him a place to stay with his own personal bedroom and playroom.

"I don't know about the rest of you but I am more than ready for this day to be over," Dr. Watson complained tiredly from beside Harry.

"There's never any rest for the weary or the wicked," Inspector Lestrade dryly stated. "I still need your statement about the earlier incident."

"Give me a moment to get my bearings, Greg, and I will gladly give it to you."

"You can take young Hereward's statement while you wait, Inspector; I doubt he will be awake for much longer," Mr. Holmes interjected.

"Harry," Harry grumbled as he pressed his face against the bird that was still perched on his lap.

"If Mr. Potter is feeling up to it," Inspector Lestrade agreed as he moved to sit down in one of the chairs across from the couch. "You may begin whenever you are ready, Mr. Potter."

"After Mr. Holmes finished my music lesson, he had me practice using my Namelessness to help me find my way about the flat while he played his violin. I sat down and started to eat lunch during the practice because Dr. Watson doesn't like me to miss any meals and he won't let Mr. Holmes keep me from my meals either. Dr. Watson had just sat down beside me when I heard the buzzer downstairs and then Mrs. Hudson was talking to someone as she walked up the stairs. The voices talking back to her sounded familiar and I wanted to see who they were, so I sent the Namelessness to paint me their faces."

"They were almost to the door when I saw them and I got scared when I recognized them as the two men that were helping Mrs. Smyth steal Mr. Roberts's treasures. Once they were in the room the man that killed Mrs. Roberts grabbed Mrs. Hudson and said he was going to hurt her. I was so scared I knocked my chair over because I wanted to run away. I couldn't move though because I kept remembering what the short man did to Mrs. Roberts and I couldn't see the colors any longer because Mr. Holmes wasn't playing anymore."

"Then I heard Mr. Holmes say something to the men and the short man told Mr. Holmes to shut up before he hurt Mrs. Hudson. I heard her cry out just like Mrs. Roberts and I was so scared he had stabbed her when I wasn't looking. I got very angry because I could suddenly smell blood and I wanted the man to stop hurting Mrs. Hudson. I yelled at him and the Namelessness exploded out of me before everything went fuzzy. I don't remember anything else after that until I heard the sad song that called the Namelessness; only there wasn't any Namelessness left and it hurt."

"Are you certain that the man who grabbed Mrs. Hudson was the same man that you saw stab Mrs. Roberts?" Inspector Lestrade inquired after he finished writing down everything that Harry had told him.

"Yes."

"And the man who was with him was the same man who you saw enter Mr. Roberts house with the first suspect the day Mrs. Roberts was murdered?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter; that is all I needed from you at the moment," Inspector Lestrade stated before he and Dr. Watson both got up and left the room.

Harry sighed in relief over not having to answer a bunch of questions this time; he was tired and it was so nice to snuggle with the warm bird in his arms. He felt Mr. Holmes laying him down again just a few seconds later followed by the coat and blanket being tucked firmly around both him and the bird. Harry let out a sleepy giggle when the bird voiced a brief complaint as its feathers were pulled into disarray by the covers; though the bird didn't even try to escape. The nine year old was just drifting off to sleep when he once again heard Mr. Dumbledore and the older Mr. Holmes's voices.

"Your cooperation, grudging though it was, has been most appreciated, Mr. Dumbledore."

"You left me no choice, Mr. Holmes, and I fear that you will lose everything before you realize just how terrible of a mistake you've made in refusing to allow me to do my duty and bind Mr. Potter's core. Mark my words, no good will come of leaving the child's magic free."

"We can address the matter again in two years when it comes times for Mr. Potter to start Hogwarts."

"Mr. Potter won't be receiving an invitation. Not only would I be remiss in exposing countless children to the destructive nature his magic has developed but there is no point in training him since he will be unable to form a connection with any wand due to his fractured core. Even if his core had not been fractured, it is doubtful that he would have been able to attend; the wizarding world has very few options open for the visually impaired and he would be unable to complete his assignments, participate in most practicals, or even read his textbooks. Casting also requires visualization. No, his name will be struck from the books the moment I return to my office."

"In that case, I am going to require you to obtain an appointment for me with the goblins so that I might secure Mr. Potter's inheritance. And let this be fair warning to you, Mr. Dumbledore, I will be most cross should _any_ attempts be made to steal what rightfully belongs to Mr. Potter. That includes any magical heirlooms that belonged to his family, any and all property that he is rightfully entitled to, and his liquid assets that the goblins are holding for him."

"I will send someone to make the arrangements first thing Monday morning," Mr. Dumbledore grudgingly agreed after a short silence. "Fawkes, come, it is time for us to return to the castle." The bird in Harry's arms replied with a short trill that was a clear refusal. "I'm certain that Mr. Potter's new guardians will allow you to visit him periodically but for now it is time for us to go."

The bird gave another refusal before twittering out what sounded like a scolding rant in musical trills and chirps. Harry giggled sleepily at the idea of the bird scolding his owner.

"It would appear that I must make my own way home. If my familiar wears out his welcome, you can tell him firmly to go home and he should leave. As an empathetic creature he undoubtedly senses Mr. Potter's less than perfect health at the moment and he is most likely feeling protective of him as a result."

"Aside from his damaged core, what else is wrong with Mr. Potter?

"He is magically exhausted and his earlier outburst left every single nerve in his body with magical burns that will cause him pain until they heal. I will have one of the Hogwarts' house elves deliver several blocks of chocolate to help reduce the pain the burns will cause him. It can be eaten as is but it works best when melted and added to warm milk. Avoiding any emotional stress while the burns are healing will be imperative as subsequent outbursts of accidental magic will only exacerbate his condition. If there is nothing further that you need of me, then I will bid you good day, gentlemen."

Harry fell asleep shortly after Mr. Dumbledore left the flat with Fawkes still snuggled up with him beneath Mr. Holmes's coat and the blanket.

* * *

><p><em>Saturday, November 11, 1989 6:08 P.M.<br>221B Baker Street, London, England_

John sighed wearily as he lowered himself into his favorite armchair with a mug of tea in hand. It had been a long, stressful day and he was stiff and sore. That wasn't even touching on his inner turmoil and confusion as he tried to wrap his mind around the concept that magic was real. A quick glance in the direction of Harry's elaborate playhouse revealed that the child was still fast asleep with the phoenix curled up next to him; the pair had been tucked into Harry's bed by Sherlock a couple of hours earlier and the door that opened up into his 'bedroom' on the middle floor left open so they could keep an eye on him.

He then let his eyes wander over the rest of the flat; which was still very much a mess. Mycroft had arranged for the windows to be replaced earlier (by a couple of the magical bodyguards Mycroft had apparently assigned to protect Harry from magical threats) but neither John nor Sherlock had felt up to straightening up the rest of the room. Mrs. Hudson had tutted over the mess before she was escorted down to her apartment by Sherlock just now but even their intrepid landlady (who was not their housekeeper; as she regularly reminded them) had not felt up to tackling the mess. There would be more than enough time to deal with it later, as far as John was concerned.

"You are still worried," Sherlock stated when he returned from walking Mrs. Hudson back to her rooms.

"What makes you say that?"

"You have not yet put away your revolver nor have you emptied the chambers of their bullets and you have a large number of shells rattling about in your pocket."

"I dislike it when our flat is invaded by criminals out for our blood but it infuriated me that those two men came here with the sole intention of killing Harry. I am also upset with myself for not being prepared."

"We were both lax. I never should have let the presence of Mycroft's overly tall dwarves and his security cameras lull me into complacency. We knew that three of the suspects were still at large and that word of a witness being found had been spreading. It was inevitable that they would track the boy down and attempt to silence him."

John said nothing in reply as he took a drink of his tea; there really was nothing to say, Sherlock was correct in his assessment of the situation and their lack of preparedness for an attack. After another few minutes, John inquired, "Why didn't you tell me about magic and Harry being a wizard?"

"I had not finished processing everything I learned from Mycroft and what I had discovered through the course of the experiments I conducted with young Harry. There is so much I don't understand about how his magic, what he calls the Namelessness, works. And now I've just learned that his magic is broken and doesn't actually work the way that it's supposed to; which means that everything I've learned from those experiments is completely useless when it comes to applying it to other wizards."

"They have an entire society, Sherlock; they're bound to have books that can be purchased for you to study."

"Yes, but that means I will have to convince Mycroft to tell me where to buy them and he's been stubbornly withholding that information for the past week."

"I'll speak to him tomorrow; I want to see what kind of medical texts their society has produced so that I can do some proper research on Harry's condition to see if there isn't some other way of helping him. Binding a child's damaged core sounds far too much like amputating an entire arm because a finger has been broken."

"What are we going to do with the child while we are out purchasing books, John? We can't very well take him out in public when he is still so overwhelmed by London's atmosphere."

"We can ask Mrs. Hudson to sit with him and we can ask Greg or Mycroft for someone to keep an eye out for trouble while we are gone," John answered after giving the matter some thought. "Mycroft will probably insist on it being his men so that he can replace his surveillance equipment since all of his cameras and microphones were destroyed this afternoon along with the windows."

"Yes, Mycroft was very annoyed about his equipment being damaged," Sherlock smugly agreed before he critically eyed John for several seconds. "Go to bed, John; you look like hell. I will stay here and watch over Harry."

"I feel like hell, Sherlock," John retorted as he stood up to take his empty mug back to the kitchen before headed up to bed immediately afterwards; leaving Sherlock alone to brood.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

Fawkes – no, Fawkes did not just leave Dumbledore for Harry. He just wants to visit with his favorite little wizard and he knows that Harry needs him more than Dumbledore does for the moment. Fawkes will go back to his pet human in a couple of days.

Harry's Core – Now, some of you are probably wondering why I'm making such a big deal out of Harry's fracture magical core (or at least why I am having Albus making such a big deal out of it) and the reason for that is because of Albus's experiences with his sister's condition. I am taking the liberty of labeling Ariana Dumbledore's condition after being traumatized at such a young age as a fractured core. Meaning Albus is fully aware of how dangerous it is to leave Harry unbound and why he was so frustrated with the Holmes brothers and John.

A little danger never stopped Sherlock though. =)


	13. Tracking Time

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Twelve: Tracking Time<span>

_November 12, 1989 through November 30, 1989  
>221B Baker Street, London, England<em>

The rest of November would be a very busy time for the occupants of 221B Baker Street. It would take Harry nearly a full week to recover from his accidental outburst of magic; the nine year old sleeping most of that time as the internal burns caused by the large expulsion of free-flowing magic slowly healed. Dumbledore's phoenix would be a near constant fixture during most of that week no matter how many times it was told to go home; the bird constantly sneaking back into the flat every chance it got until Harry was up and moving once more.

Just a few days after Fawkes's last visit, Sherlock decided that Harry needed some form of animal companionship since the number of people he interacted with on a regular basis was fairly small and comprised entirely of adults who didn't always have time to just sit and keep him company. It was also very obvious that the nine year old missed Fawkes's company after the bird had stopped popping into the flat every time they turned around. Once Mrs. Hudson's permission was secured, Sherlock somehow managed to track down the cat lady from Harry's early childhood and procured (read stole) the cat Harry had mentioned the day Mycroft had questioned him about his life with the Dursleys.

The cat actually turned out to be a purebred kneazle; a magical species of feline that was closely related to the domestic house cat. Her fur was a uniform slate gray that took on a blue hue when the light struck her fur just right while her neck ruff, all four paws, and the tuft of fur on the tip of her tail were all white. Her eyes were a greenish-yellow that glittered with intelligence. She also wasn't much bigger than a half grown domestic cat.

Little Lady (as she'd been named seven years earlier) was actually fairly listless and weak when she was first brought back to the flat; the cat had been pining for Harry for the last five years (according to her previous owner, one Arabella Figg). Shortly after being reunited with the nine year old, the kneazle rapidly grew stronger and began putting on weight – though her physical stature would remain rather stunted. It quickly became near impossible to separate the pair; the kneazle female even went so far as to join Harry in the tub when he took a shower or bath.

Mrs. Hudson soon became an avid fan of the dainty feline. The magical cat was very fastidious and very well behaved for a cat; she never clawed at the furniture or walls, never sprayed or peed about the flat, never caterwauled at ungodly hours during the night, and surprisingly did not shed fur all over the furniture. Between Harry and Mrs. Hudson the cat was absolutely spoiled; her diet consisting of fresh and tinned fish, lightly grilled beef and chicken livers, and fresh cream instead of mere cat food. Her sleek fur soon glistened from the frequent brushings she was given and she had a large selection of high quality cat toys for entertainment and exercise.

Harry had even talked Mycroft into purchasing an elaborate cat-condo that was attached to the outside of his playhouse on the inside corner where the stacked boxes were connected. The carpet wrapped contraption easily functioned as a feline jungle gym, a private sanctuary, and scratching post all in one for the cat and when she wasn't glued to Harry's side, Little Lady would often be found lounging in one of the fabricated caves.

During the week that Harry spent healing, Dr. Watson and Sherlock were in and out of the flat frequently as they cleaned and repaired the flat, upgraded the security of the building, gathered information on the wizarding society of Great Britain, and helped Lestrade wrap up the loose ends of Mrs. Roberts's murder. On top of that, Dr. Watson also had to work. Mycroft Holmes was frequently underfoot during that time as he had been officially named Harry's guardian (something that had surprised both Dr. Watson and Sherlock).

Once Harry was up and moving, Sherlock would once again devote his days to putting the child through his paces. He started by resuming the music lessons he had been giving Harry just before the attack (the next lesson being on replacing snapped strings and tuning the instrument). Those lessons soon grew to include reading lessons after Mycroft delivered a standard Braille educational kit (designed for teaching the visually impaired how to read and write Braille) and a Braille typewriter.

Sherlock had at first tried to teach Harry how to read printed text using the Namelessness only to discover that the Namelessness couldn't actually provide him with a clear enough image of the words on paper or other flat surface. The same would prove true for photographic images and video feeds; the most he could make out of either would be splashes of color. That was the reason why he hadn't learned how to read during his years exploring Blackmore from within his closet. Counting, basic math, and spoken language had been easy to learn through props (such as counters) and listening to others speaking and teaching those subjects though.

That handicap (for lack of a better word) in using the Namelessness also meant that Harry was currently unable to learn how to read sheet music. That hurdle would be insignificant in his music lessons though as he quickly developed the ability to learn new songs by hearing it played; his enhanced hearing and the Namelessness allowed him to easily memorize the different pitches, tones, and individual notes after hearing a song once. Reproducing the song would be slightly harder until he learned to properly play the violin (something that would take time).

The rest of Harry's education would be addressed before the end of the month as Mycroft delivered audio textbooks, Braille textbooks, and a customized laptop with reading and voice activation software and a Braille keyboard. Once he grew comfortable using the laptop, Harry would also be enrolled in an on-line educational program since sending him to a traditional public or private school was currently impractical due to how easily he panicked when his senses were overwhelmed with too much input.

His hypersensitivity to sound and smell was an unfortunate byproduct of the five years he'd spent living in a closet in a fairly quiet town and his corrupted magic compensating for the years of sensory deprivation and his loss of sight.

Special hearing aides designed to mute sound would eventually be ordered for Harry to help filter out on the background noise of London. The only problem was that his uncontained magic (which he still refused to actually call magic) tended to short the delicate devices out fairly quickly. As far as dealing with Harry's sensitivity to the scent pollution of big city living, there was not much that could be done aside from periodically immersing him in the outside air until he grew used to the overpowering smells or learned how to use the Namelessness to block overpowering scents.

The last week of November, Harry would finally leave the flat a handful of times.

The first time he was taken out was to visit Scotland Yard in order to identify the four suspects that were involved with Mrs. Roberts's death and the theft of Mr. Roberts's collection of rare artifacts. His second and third forays out of the flat would be to Mycroft's office in order to give video testimony at his aunt and uncle's trial and again for the trial of the four individuals involved in Mrs. Roberts's murder. The fourth foray out was to the dentist's to have his teeth checked and to the eye doctor to have his eyes examined by an expert. The last foray out of the apartment during that time would be to the clinic to receive the standard childhood immunizations.

* * *

><p><em>December 1, 1989 through December 31, 1989<br>221B Baker Street, London, England_

The month of December would pass by fairly quickly as Harry flourished in Dr. Watson and Sherlock's care under Mycroft's supervision. As busy as they kept him, he never had time to dwell on his previous life with the Dursleys or over the tragic death of Mrs. Roberts. He also never had time to grow bored between his lessons and Sherlock's continued experiments in using and controlling the Namelessness. Having Little Lady around for company when both men were busy helped as well.

It would also be a month filled with wonder and firsts for Harry. With Christmas fast approaching, Mrs. Hudson had gone out of her way to make this year's yuletide extra special for Harry since it would be the first time Harry would get to participate in the normal Christmastime activities since he'd been dumped onto the Dursleys' front porch.

It started with Christmas baking where Harry was allowed to help make a wide assortment of holiday goodies under Mrs. Hudson's supervision. It was during their first such baking session that the older woman managed to coax Harry into actually accepting and eating his first sweet since arriving (not counting the hot chocolate that he'd been given to drink while he'd still been healing the previous month). After that first sample, Harry would frequently be caught sneaking tastes of whatever treat they were currently making; much like any normal child his age.

The next holiday activity the two would undertake would be to decorate both Mrs. Hudson's flat and the flat Harry shared with Dr. Watson and Sherlock. Fairy lights were strung up along the staircase banisters, around the fireplace mantels, and around each window frame. Garlands were draped over door frames, wreaths would be tacked to the doors, and crystal snowflakes and icicles were hung from fishing line in the windows. Two small fir trees (one for each flat) would be brought in, set up in the sitting rooms, and decorated with tinsel, fairy lights, garlands of popcorn, and an eclectic collection of Christmas ornaments.

Mrs. Hudson also conspired to help Harry purchase Christmas gifts for the people he knew; a new scarf for Sherlock, a wool jumper for Dr. Watson, a pair of leather gloves for Mycroft, a silk scarf for Anthea, a coffee mug with a silly saying on it for Inspector Lestrade, and a cat bed for Little Lady. Dr. Watson would later help him get a gift for Mrs. Hudson; a crystal picture frame holding a picture of Harry and Little Lady posing in front of the Christmas tree in their flat.

Dr. Watson and Inspector Lestrade would bring Harry down to the Yard to meet Santa Claus; Dr. Watson hiring one of the part-time Santa's from the mall to come in during the evening just for Harry. The meeting included a live reindeer that Harry got to ride on; much to his pleasure. Sherlock's contribution to the holiday hoopla was to arrange a trip out to the country so Harry could spend a day building snowmen, attempting to ice skate, and sledding down a small hill on a round, plastic sled. Sherlock passed the entire trip off as an outdoor experiment involving Harry's Namelessness.

The weekend before Christmas was then spent at the Holmes Country Estate where he met Mrs. Holmes (the formidable mother of the two Holmes brothers) for the first time. Harry found the woman to be rather stern and intimidating but also kind in a reserved sort of way. She had grilled both of her sons the entire weekend about the care they were providing for Harry the moment the woman had learned that Mycroft had taken legal custody of Harry while Dr. Watson and the younger Mr. Holmes currently had physical custody. Mrs. Holmes had also lightly quizzed Harry about his education and his treatment at the hands of her sons.

All in all, Harry was quite happy to return to 221B in the evening on Christmas Eve; the weekend had been rather exhausting. Sherlock had felt much the same and Dr. Watson had secretly laughed at both of them after one of Mycroft's employees had dropped them off at their flat.

Christmas Day would be nearly as exhausting but far more fun; it was also a day Harry would not soon forget.

He'd woken up to find a pile of presents stacked in the center of his playhouse sitting room. He'd been confused about their presence since all of the gifts he knew about had been placed under and around the Christmas tree. Those actually turned out to be from a handful of magicals that had known his parents and had been delivered via Fawkes; the phoenix's first visit since Harry's injured nerves had been healed. They would also be carefully scanned by two of the wizards that worked for Mycroft before Harry was allowed to open them.

Once they were declared curse and spell free, Harry opened them to find an assortment of wizarding candies and games, photographs of his parents (which he'd never get to see, though Dr. Watson had described them to him in great detail), a couple of books, a heavy winter cloak charmed to repel moisture and keep him warm, a set of gloves and a matching scarf, and a small round brass box with a flat bottom that played a magical recording of a phoenix singing a soothing song when opened.

After breakfast, he'd opened the rest of his gifts. He'd received quite a few articles of clothing from everyone in addition to several audio books of popular children's stories (from Inspector Lestrade), a thick comforter and a large package of toy soldiers (from Dr. Watson), a music box (to replace his old one) that played three different songs and a learner's violin (from Sherlock), a CD player and a large selection of classical music CDs (from Mycroft), some curtains and thick rugs for his playhouse (from Mrs. Hudson), a carved toy chest (from Mrs. Holmes), and several toys that had been designated as from Santa Claus.

Harry actually hadn't known what to do with all of the presents he'd been given and felt more than a little overwhelmed by the sheer number of gifts (even if each person had only given him a few small gifts each). He was eventually drawn out of his discomfort by food, Christmas music, and an epic toy solider war staged under the table (the latter carried out with Little Lady's help – the kneazle won when she carried off Harry's general).

After lunch, Harry would meet a number of other people that knew and worked with Dr. Watson and Sherlock over the course of the afternoon. A few of them even brought small gifts of sweets, toys, or keepsake ornaments for Harry (particularly those that worked with Dr. Watson at the hospital since he'd mentioned Harry in passing to them). He would then spend the rest of the night with Mrs. Hudson as Dr. Watson and Sherlock headed out to a Christmas party they'd been invited to while Mycroft attended an office party.

The rest of the month (and consequently the year) would be spent enjoying his gifts and typing out thank you cards for everyone that had given him a gift with Mrs. Hudson's help. The only major event during that time was a brief audience with the Queen that had been arranged through Mycroft so that she could see him with her own eyes. She had asked him a couple of questions about his new home and caretakers as well as a few carefully worded questions about his former guardians. She had then commented on his resemblance to his paternal grandfather and ordered him to enjoy the rest of his childhood before she dismissed him.

The entire visit had been a decidedly odd experience, in Harry's opinion.

* * *

><p><em>January 1, 1990 through December 31, 1990<br>221B Baker Street, London, England_

The New Year rolled in with a bang as Sherlock took his first case since Mrs. Roberts's murder; this time it was a string of attacks that had been occurring in Hyde Park after dark. The consulting detective ended up being laid up for two days when he purposefully made himself a target in order to catch the small gang of attackers; he'd come home with three fractured ribs, a broken nose, and a rather painful stab wound in his left thigh. All of the suspects that had been caught had been found in far worse condition; a clear indication that they'd been on the losing end of the short scuffle.

Harry had been rather upset over the entire thing but after Dr. Watson explained exactly what is was Sherlock did for a living, he learned to accept that Sherlock would come home injured more often than not when he was working a case; though he still wouldn't like it. Dr. Watson would occasionally end up hurt as well when he tagged along with Sherlock; though he tended to be far more careful after learning how much their injuries upset Harry. Thankfully, the two men rarely ever took more than one or two cases a month though Inspector Lestrade would consult Sherlock on dozens of cases on top of the ones he personally investigated.

If not for his own rather full schedules, he probably would have worried far more each time either man left the flat. As it was, his days were still full of lessons, experiments (when Sherlock was home and not in the basement flat tending to his other experiments), and learning how to cope with the world beyond the walls of the flat. Mycroft also began spending more time with him after the first of the year; the older Holmes brother closely monitoring his education (academic, cultural, and social) and making certain that Harry was adapting to life outside of his former prison.

Time spent outside of 221B during the rest of winter and all of spring was still limited to visits to Mycroft's office, Scotland Yard, the Holmes Country Estate, and the occasional trip to the countryside so he could spend time outdoors running around. Easter saw him spending an entire week at the Holmes Country Estate and included piano lessons, egg painting, an Easter egg hunt in the company of a few of the local children (though he did not interact with them), and his first ever church service.

Summer and the warmer weather would bring the first of many trips to the seaside for Harry. It would also mark the first time he spent truly playing with other children (all of them at least three years younger than him) as he built sand castles, chased waves, and hunted for sea shells under the careful watch of Dr. Watson and Sherlock with a couple of Mycroft's employees tagging along for security. Little Lady's presence at the beach and her willingness to get wet had been the catalyst for Harry's inclusion in the other children's activities; after all, it wasn't often that one saw a cat at the beach playing tag with the waves.

His first visit to the beach would also mark the day when he once again began covering his useless eyes with a blindfold. He'd tried using sunglasses but they were easily knocked from his face and he had grown to dislike hearing people gasp in shock or let out soft exclamations of pity every time they saw his eyes. Unlike the gauze that his aunt used to make him wear over his eyes though, this time his blindfolds were made from short silk sashes in various colors. The sashes drew far more attention to his face but he could brush that off far more easily than he could the reactions to his dead eyes due what Aunt Petunia had said about his eyes being disgusting (the reactions of other people reinforcing her words).

His tenth birthday would be a near repeat of his first proper Christmas; a cake baking and ice cream making lesson with Mrs. Hudson, a day spent decorating Dr. Watson and Sherlock's flat, and a pile of presents (including more from the wizarding world). He also experienced his first birthday party (a handful of children near his age from a local orphanage invited to attend) filled with party games, laughter, and homemade cake and ice cream. His playhouse had been a big hit with the other children as had the thank you gifts Mycroft had helped him pick out to give to the children as a thank you for celebrating his birthday with him.

The gifts he received from everyone included clothes (he'd outgrown most of what had been purchased for him at the end of the previous year), more audio books (some fictional, some literary classics, and some reference materials), more CDs (a number of instrumental collections from different genres and cultures), sweets, a few toys, and a couple of strategy games. From the magical world, he received additional sweets, another phoenix song recording (this one of a lively, uplifting song), a couple of animated children's toys, and a couple more books. The last gift came from the Queen and contained a birthday card signed by the entire Royal Family and an official family tree of his father's family that had been annotated in Braille.

Not long after his birthday, Sherlock would take Harry into the wizarding world for the first time to visit Diagon Alley; the man wanted to see how the Namelessness behaved in such an obvious magical environment. It was a rather unpleasant experience for Harry as the magic that saturated the air gave him a headache and triggered the burning pain when his Namelessness tried to interact with it. He also found most wizards (and witches as he learned women were called) to be rather rude, highly prejudiced, completely lacking in common sense, and utterly disrespectful of another's personal space.

Visiting the London Zoo with Dr. Watson had been a far more enjoyable experience despite the large crowds, loud noises, and potent smells.

The rest of the year was uneventful with the only events of note being Sherlock signing Harry up for one on one boxing lessons with an old acquaintance of his, Mycroft taking him to visit his parents' graves on Halloween afternoon, and the month of December again being a month of firsts as he was taken to key locations to 'view' the Christmas decorations, attended an office Christmas party with Mycroft, rode a train for the first time, and actively participated in the Christmas shopping instead of just writing out a list of the gifts he wanted to give.

He also baked goodies and decorated the building with Mrs. Hudson again and managed to sneak an entire tray of freshly iced biscuits when she wasn't looking. He shared the purloined biscuits with Dr. Watson and Sherlock later that evening and managed to get both men in trouble with Mrs. Hudson as she accused them of sneaking the biscuits when she wasn't looking. Apparently, stealing cookies was something that Sherlock had done (repeatedly) in the past.

* * *

><p><em>January 1, 1991 through December 31, 1991<br>221B Baker Street, London, England_

Harry's second year under the care of Dr. Watson and Sherlock would pass much the same as the first; though the number of forays out of the flat would double as he learned to cope with the sounds and ignore the worst of the smells. A magical replacement for the special hearing aides (in the form of small, flat disk-shaped stud earrings that were charmed to match the color of his skin – and therefore easily overlooked) helped as they were more efficient in blocking out the background noise whenever Harry left the flat. Though, it had taken him quite some time to both get used to wearing the studs and to train the Namelessness not to attack the magic in the earrings.

That year would also see Harry spending more time with children around his age during those outings that were informal in nature and for all of the major holidays in addition to his birthday. He rarely ever saw the same children twice and didn't really make any friends he kept in touch with but he did enjoy playing with other children from time to time. The fact that most of the children he interacted with were orphans like him made it easy for him to connect with them for the short time they spent in each others company.

Several of the adults in his life grew concerned when they noticed Harry wasn't forming any lasting connections with any of the children with whom he interacted though. When Dr. Watson asked him why he wasn't trying to make friends with any of the children, Harry had told him that he knew children were cruel and that he did not want to see the children he played with grow comfortable enough around him to insult him because he was blind. He had gone on to assure Dr. Watson that he enjoyed the play dates with the other children and that they were always new and exciting because the children were all strangers that had no expectations of him based upon the last time they'd seen him.

Harry would start seeing a therapist shortly after that conversation.

He would also be questioned many times about how happy he truly was living with Dr. Watson and Sherlock. Both men would be interviewed and reviewed by social services around that time to determine if they were qualified to continue raising Harry. Only one social worker had foolishly attempted to remove Harry from Dr. Watson and Sherlock's care after one such interview (because Sherlock had insulted his intelligence); sparking Harry's second large-scale outburst of accidental magic.

Mycroft was most vicious in making the man pay for his over eagerness and idiocy when it was discovered that he had failed to read through the file on Harry's background; meaning the man had been ignorant of the circumstances that had led to Harry being placed with Sherlock and Dr. Holmes in the first place.

To say Harry was fond of the men who had taken him in would be an understatement; he was very attached to them and he both respected and trusted them without reserve. They had given him back his humanity the night they rescued him from his relatives and they had accepted him with all of his flaws and quirks. He knew where he stood with both of them. They weren't a family and in truth, Harry was glad that they weren't; his family hadn't been all that great, after all. In his mind, the arrangement he had with Dr. Watson, Sherlock, and Mycroft was far better than any family could be.

After three months of therapy, it was determined that Harry was actually rather well adjusted for an abused and neglected child despite the fact that he had no desire to make friends. He was also far more mature than other children his age due to his experiences and the things he'd seen and heard using the Namelessness during the five years he'd spent locked in a closet. That was on top of the complications his disability presented (though those were slowly becoming less of an issue as he gained better control of the Namelessness and was taught how to physically work around his blindness by the adults in his life).

Once the drama involving the inept social worker was over, Harry was no longer required to see his therapist on a regular basis; though he would attend a yearly review with the man until his sixteenth birthday.

There would be three other incidents of note that year.

The first one occurred on his eleventh birthday when Sherlock took Harry back to Diagon Alley for a second visit. This time, the man took him to the Wandmaker's store in order to test his compatibility with a wand to confirm Dumbledore's prediction about his core being unable to connect with a focus. They would spend three long hours in the store with Harry trying wand after wand only for the Namelessness to painfully reject them all (Harry's corrupt magic still very much incompatible with normal magic). Garrick Ollivander was sworn to secrecy once the ordeal was over. He also provided Sherlock with a more in depth explanation on how foci interacted with a magical core.

The second incident occurred on September third; two days after the wizarding world finally learned that Harry Potter would not be attending Hogwarts. London had quickly become unsafe for Harry as an untold number of witches and wizards sought to find him and 'return him to the world he belonged to'. Harry would be bundled off to the Holmes Country Estate after he'd nearly been kidnapped off the street by a filthy wizard wearing rags and smelling of burning socks on the third. In fact, it was only thanks to Little Lady that Harry had managed to escape from the wizard; the female kneazle had attacked the wizard the moment he'd grabbed onto the eleven year old.

Harry would remain with Mrs. Holmes until the furor died down two and a half months later.

During that time, he'd received more piano lessons, formal dance lessons, and lessons in proper deportment. He enjoyed the extra music lessons, loathed the dance sessions, and tolerated the endless lectures on manners, posture, and etiquette.

He was especially happy to return to London to escape the deportment and dance lessons only to learn that Mrs. Holmes had made arrangements with Mycroft for a tutor to be hired to continue them in her place. That was the first time he'd actually been unhappy with his official guardian and he made certain that the man knew it but Mycroft had simply told Harry to get over it; no one told Mummy Holmes no.

Harry sulked, Sherlock sympathized, and Dr. Watson hid his amusement.

Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft would be forgiven a few days later when Harry learned that his guardian had also hired a music tutor to continue his piano lessons and introduce him to additional instruments (such as the flute, the clarinet, the cello, and the trumpet). The delivery of an upright piano to the flat on Christmas morning also helped him to forget the year's worth of torture (said dance lessons) he'd be subjected to; the large instrument a joint gift from all three of the Holmeses.

The final incident involved the escape of Sirius Black from Azkaban (the wizarding prison) on Halloween night which occurred when Harry was still at the Holmes Country Estate. A nation wide manhunt would be initiated for the escaped criminal within hours of his break out being discovered. Mr. Black would be picked up by Mycroft's employees seven days after his escape when the man made an appearance in Little Whinging, Surrey (at the Dursleys' old home). Another scandal would rock the wizarding society on November twenty-first when the Ministry of Magic was forced to reveal that Mr. Black was innocent of his crimes (at Mycroft's insistence) and that he'd been held for ten years in Azkaban without a proper trial.

Harry would eventually meet Sirius Black, who was introduced to him as his godfather, after the New Year.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

* Braille reading kit – I know these kits exist but have never actually used or seen one personally (aside from pictures) and so based the one in the story on a basic reading/writing program used by reading programs such as Hooked on Phonics that have work sheets, cassette tapes (or CD's), flash cards, and other aides – only geared towards Braille instead of print.


	14. Confounded Contracts

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Thirteen: Confounded Contracts<span>

_Monday, October 31, 1994 7:49 P.M.  
>221B Baker Street, London, England<em>

Harry's body ran on autopilot as he played a violin duet with Sherlock; his mind thinking back over the past five years. Part of him couldn't help but marvel over how different his life was now in comparison to what his life had been like during the five years preceding his placement with Dr. Watson and Sherlock. He had been a frightened little boy afraid of the world when he'd first been found and now he was a confident teen ready to take on the world.

At least that was his personal opinion.

The fourteen year old had also changed physically over the years. His once abnormally pale complexion (due to five years of imprisonment) had morphed into a healthy light peach colored complexion that darkened to a light tan each summer. His unmanageable hair was thick, full, and had a healthy sheen to it. He'd grown several centimeters in height (though he was still slightly below average for his age group), had gained a full three stones, and developed the lithe and wiry build of an athlete thanks to his physical activities through the years.

The over all effect of his physical growth was that he no longer looked like the little lost waif that had been found locked inside of a closet.

Something that Harry greatly appreciated.

In addition to his physical and emotional improvements during those five years, Harry had gained a considerable amount of knowledge and skills during the past five years.

He had been taught how to play multiple instruments (including the drums – much to Sherlock's annoyance), how to dance over two dozen formal dances (much to his own annoyance), how to read and write, how to use a wide array of useful technology, and how to physically defend himself. He'd also finally received a semi-formal academic education and had earned his GCSEs in Mathematics, Science, History, Citizenship, Physical Education, Music, and Information & Communication Technology (ICT) three years early. That left only his GCSEs for English, English Literature, Art & Design, and Modern Foreign Languages (he was studying French and Italian) left to take sometime before his sixteenth birthday.

On top of all that, he'd gained a much deeper understanding of the Namelessness (which he still refused to acknowledge was magic despite the fact that he'd come to accept the fact that magic existed). True control of the Namelessness had come on the heels of understanding that part of him and he could now use the Namelessness to both view and affect his surroundings consistently. He also no longer needed to rely upon music as a focus in order to call upon the Namelessness for simple guidance when walking about or to perform minor tricks. He did still occasionally have trouble on splitting his attention while using the Namelessness but the only way to fix that was to practice; which he did every day.

Sherlock had been instrumental in all of the progress that Harry had made in using and controlling the Namelessness during his first three years in 221B. The sociopathic genius had also seen to it that Harry had a firm grounding in magical theory so that he could understand the differences between the Namelessness and a normal wizard's magic. After those three years, Sherlock's interest in magic had vanished practically overnight and his experiments with Harry had tapered off rather quickly. Harry hadn't minded too terribly much since he had learned enough to continue those experiments on his own.

It helped that Sherlock didn't completely dismiss Harry; he still gave Harry music lessons, still helped him with his reading and writing, still sparred with him regularly (during his boxing lessons), and had begun teaching him how to fence after his twelfth birthday (after he'd deemed Harry aware enough of his surroundings not to hurt himself).

Dr. Watson had focused more on making certain that Harry could function in normal society; seeing to it that he learned basic life skills (such as money management, navigation of the public transit system, basic first aide, and how to interact with his peers in an appropriate manner). He was also the one most concerned with Harry's over all health; making certain that Harry ate right, got plenty of sleep, and exercised regularly. And while Dr. Watson was the one that Harry went to when he felt ill or if he'd been hurt (though his injuries usually healed fairly quickly), it was Sherlock that helped him through his panic attacks (attacks that had become nearly non-existent after his second year with the two men).

Then there was Harry's guardian.

Mycroft Holmes was a perfectionist.

And while Mycroft refused to allow Harry to settle for mediocre, he was never unreasonable in his expectations and often displayed far more patience when dealing with Harry than he did when dealing with Sherlock.

He'd been the one to push Harry into giving his lessons his best efforts regardless of whether or not he enjoyed the topic being taught (those formal dance lessons being a prime example). Mycroft tended to be the one to offer advice to Harry on all aspects of the teen's life (such as his education, potential future careers, personal development etc.) whenever he was confused or uncertain. He also spent a considerable amount of time teaching Harry rudimentary politics, economics, estate management, strategy, and logic.

The older man had, over time, become something of a mentor to Harry due to the approach that the man had taken with the teen and Harry sought his approval far more often than he did Dr. Watson's or Sherlock's; which was only natural since the man was his guardian despite the fact that Harry didn't live with him.

Next there was Mrs. Hudson; she grand-mothered Harry. She was the one that taught him the basics of cooking, showed him simple housekeeping tricks and tips, and taught him how to smile. She also made it a point to encourage him to act like a child from time to time; she was the one that organized his play dates, planned his parties, and saw to it that he learned how to have fun. Overall, she was nothing at all like his aunt and it made Harry appreciate her all that much more.

And he couldn't forget Mrs. Holmes.

The woman was far more demanding than Mycroft at times and often just as annoying as Sherlock when the mood struck her (such as with the dance and deportment lessons she'd insisted Harry take). She had been the one determined to turn Harry into a proper gentleman; drilling him on proper etiquette until they became semi-instinctive habits that he used ninety-percent of the time. The only reason he didn't use them all of the time was because of Sherlock's influence; much to Mummy Holmes's annoyance.

Finally, there was Anthea (Mycroft's lovely but mostly silent assistant).

Anthea had set herself up as Harry's fashion consultant shortly after Harry first started leaving the flat. She was the one that had filled his wardrobe with expensive, high quality formal and casual wear while Mrs. Hudson had provided him with sturdy play clothes. She had also taught Harry how to pick out an appropriate outfit (by color, material, and cut) for any given occasion. And it was Anthea who monitored Harry's behavior for Mrs. Holmes (so the older woman would know what Harry needed to work on) during the public events that Harry was required to attend alongside Mycroft.

He still didn't see any of them as parental figures and he never allowed himself to think of them as family (the very idea of family tainted and tarnished in his mind after eight years with the Dursleys). The men also treated him more like a student than a son (though his guardian wasn't quite that distant with him). Regardless of the complicated relationship he had with all six adults, they were all very important to Harry and he was quick to defend them from both verbal and physical attacks.

The two people who were most often on the receiving end of Harry's ire were Anderson and Donovan (both officers with Scotland Yard).

The first time Harry had ever punched anyone outside of a friendly boxing spar had been when Anderson had made an inappropriate insinuation about the fact that Harry was living with two unmarried men. Harry had broken the man's nose, cracked two of his ribs, and nailed him between the legs with his foot. That had been just before Harry's thirteenth birthday and the man had been transferred to an out of the way office up in Northern England (courtesy of an annoyed Mycroft) within an hour after his injuries had been treated.

They had run into him a time or two since then but Harry had limited his retaliations to verbal blows after Mycroft had lectured him about the appropriate level of response to use when responding to verbal attacks. His interactions with Donovan never escalated to that level due to the fact that Harry had been taught to never hit a woman unless she attacked him first. That didn't stop Harry from politely insulting the woman with big and creative words each time she opened her mouth to insult his caretakers; a fact that thrilled Sherlock to no end.

There had also been a small handful of times when Harry had defended Dr. Watson, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson from criminals breaking (or storming) into their building; including that first time when he'd been the target. The first time Harry had ever broken a bone (not counting that long ago day when he'd been hit in the face with a cricket bat) had been when he'd jumped from the top of his playhouse onto the back of a thug threatening Mrs. Hudson when she wouldn't tell him where Sherlock had gone. He'd managed to grab the man in a weak choke-hold and held on just long enough for Dr. Watson to rush back into the room before he'd been pried off and thrown into the table; the impact snapping two ribs.

He'd also taken a bullet for Little Lady one time when the kneazle had attacked another man to protect Harry after he'd been taken hostage. The bullet had hit him in the back of the right shoulder when he had yanked himself free at the last second and dove over top of the only being he considered a friend. The wound had been fully healed in less than an hour (once the bullet had been removed) but he'd still been lectured about stopping his momentum when pulling off daring rescues. That had also earned him lessons on dodging, ducking, rolling, and sliding.

Little Lady had also been given lessons in hit and run tactics so that she wouldn't be such an easy target in the future; and yes, she was intelligent enough to be taught such things.

Harry was never scolded or punished for protecting another; only for carelessly leaving himself open to potential follow up attacks. Two of his biggest role models had a tendency to throw themselves in the line of fire for others and they couldn't very well tell him not to do as they did because then they'd be hypocrites and introducing double standards would have seen them losing his trust and respect. Something they wouldn't do because it would undermine their rules and orders along with driving him to question everything that they'd taught him over the past five years.

Harry's thoughts turned to his only friend at that point; Little Lady.

The still rather diminutive kneazle was almost as much a part of Harry as the Namelessness inside of him. She was an extension of himself and at the same time she was so much more. It was Little Lady that had held the nightmares at bay during the nights. It was Little Lady that kept him company when he was sick or depressed. And it was Little Lady that snuggled and cuddled with him when he needed comfort. She was always there; sitting on his shoulder, curling up on his lap or under his shirt, dogging his heels, or watching over him from her cat-condo.

In return, Harry was completely devoted to his friend. He fed her only the best quality food, groomed her every night before he went to sleep, bathed her weekly with special pest repelling pet shampoos (her daily showers with Harry more along the lines of playtime for the kneazle), entertained her when she was bored, and diligently kept her litter box clean. He also took her everywhere with him without exception; the kneazle a licensed working cat (the feline equivalent of a guide dog) which allowed her to enter those buildings that are usually barred to pets.

To obtain that license, Little Lady had been professionally trained to function as a guide cat; she mewed when he was in danger of walking into something, tapped his cheek with her paw at street corners (one tap to stop him and two to tell him it was clear to walk), and she could lead him safely along a crowded street while on a leash. She also growled and hissed warnings to strangers who invaded his personal space and attacked them if they failed to heed her warnings; such as when Little Lady had prevented Mundungus Fletcher (a petty wizarding thief) from kidnapping him just a couple of months after his eleventh birthday.

If she had been an ordinary feline, she never would have been able to function as a certified guide cat. She wasn't just a run of the mill cat though; she was a kneazle and a highly intelligent one at that. She had been trained to react to both verbal and non-verbal commands, could think ahead to anticipate Harry's movements, and was highly intuitive when it came to Harry's moods and emotions. It was also very apparent that she understood spoken English and not just recognized key words; she'd even learned to understand both French and Italian during the course of Harry's language lessons.

And while Harry didn't need her to function as his guide all of the time, there were times when he was too tired to use the Namelessness and those were the times when Little Lady's training was most beneficial.

Her license and training also served to draw attention away from Harry's obvious lack of difficulty with his blindness when out in public since his ability to avoid obstacles and navigate the maze that was London was attributed to Little Lady. That ruse helped deflect any magical attention he might have garnered from passing witches and wizards and meant that there was less of a chance that a random magical would discover his fractured core and alert the wizarding public of the fact.

"Halebeorht, you're allowing your attention to wander; you need to focus your full attention on the task at hand least you fall behind or drop a note," Sherlock interjected suddenly as their duet came to an end; his voice cutting through Harry's thoughts and bringing him back to the present.

"I was merely making certain that you could keep up with me, old man," Harry retorted with a soft snort in response to Sherlock's attempt to needle him about his name.

"I am not old."

"And my name is not Halebeorht."

"Impertinent brat," Sherlock huffed with fondness.

"Barmy old codger," Harry countered with a smirk.

"You're both equally annoying," Dr. Watson pointed out from where he was typing away on his laptop; the shorter man currently writing up the details of his and Sherlock's latest case on his blog.

"Your unsolicited words of praise are flattering but unnecessary," Harry pompously drawled in perfect synchronization with Sherlock; drawing a chorus of chuckles and barking laughter from the two wizards playing a game of chess at the table and a huff of amused exasperation from the doctor.

As Harry set about cleaning the Stradivarius that Sherlock had given him for his fourteenth birthday (one of eight such violins that had been in the Holmes family for at least six generations; the equivalent of high praise from the man in regards to the quality of Harry's mastery of the violin), he reflected on his relationship with the two adult wizards.

First there was Sirius Black; his godfather and a close childhood friend of his father. The man had come into his life at the start of his third year living with Dr. Watson and Sherlock. The man had been physically weak and emotionally unbalanced when Harry first met him; that was hardly a surprise though since the man had spent ten years being tortured by cruel demonic creatures in a magical prison. It had taken Harry a long time to warm up to the man; both because he was a wizard and because the man was highly emotional with volatile mood swings.

The man was also a veritable font of information about Harry's father and paternal grandparents (as well as a little bit about his mother); the stories his godfather told in his better moments had been what had drawn Harry to him. Harry had also been fascinated by the man's ability to turn himself into an actual dog; even though exposure to the man's magic caused him pain when it clashed with the Namelessness.

In the beginning, Mr. Black's weekly visits with were closely supervised, limited to no more than an hour in length, and took place well away from Baker Street. The two reasons for those strict restrictions was to protect Harry and to give Mr. Black an incentive to actually get better if he ever wanted to spend more time with Harry. Over the course of the next two years, those visits would slowly increase from one to five hours at a time and eventually go from weekly visits to almost daily visits as Mr. Black's mental and physical health steadily improved. It hadn't been until January of this year that the wizard had actually been allowed to visit Harry at his place of residence though.

There had even been a small handful of occasions where Harry had been left alone with his godfather over the past six months; a sign of trust from the three men that shared custody of Harry.

His godfather's growing presence in his life had eventually led to Harry meeting another close friend of his parents; one Remus J. Lupin. The Namelessness had not liked Mr. Lupin one bit when Harry had first met him. There was something about the man that made the corrupted magic inside of him raise its hackles. Harry found the Namelessness's reaction very puzzling since the man was polite, kind, soft spoken, and possessed a unique sense of humor. It wasn't until Harry learned that the man was an honest-to-goodness werewolf that he finally understood why he always felt uneasy around the man.

Once he understood what it was that set the Namelessness on edge, Harry had actually found it far easier to relax around Mr. Lupin because it allowed him to confirm that the man wasn't a true threat (outside of a full moon).

Together, both wizards had taught Harry much about wizarding culture, laws, and politics. They had also painted Harry a far more accurate picture of the people that his parents had been during their years at Hogwarts and the years leading up to their deaths.

The two wizards had been utterly horrified when they learned the true reason why Harry had been denied entrance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry long before his eleventh birthday. Mr. Black had suffered a major relapse upon learning about Harry's fractured magical core; the man had immediately blamed himself for failing to be there to protect Harry when Harry had been younger. That had been over a year and a half ago.

Once they had proved themselves to be trustworthy, dependable, and in Mr. Black's case, emotionally stable, both men had been hired by Mycroft Holmes; that had been roughly eight months ago. Mr. Black mostly worked as a hired wand tracking down those criminals with magical backgrounds that committed crimes against non-magicals. He occasionally worked with Sherlock alongside Dr. Watson on some of the cases they took if there was a chance that the suspect was a wizard (or witch) that crossed over the invisible line of separation between the two societies.

Mr. Lupin, on the other hand, functioned as a tutor and instructor for those young magicals of mixed heritage that left the wizarding society due to the rampant prejudice or whose non-magical parents had refused to allow them to attend what sounded like a bogus school (if they had even been invited to attend said school) that worked for the British Government. He also frequently worked as Mr. Black's partner in the field; his friendship with Harry's godfather very similar to the complex friendship between Dr. Watson and Sherlock.

"You're attention is wandering again, young Hazari," Sherlock declared as he lightly rapped Harry on the skull with his knuckles.

"It's Halloween," Harry explained with an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders before he changed the subject; the one holiday that Harry never celebrated due to how many dark memories were tied to it. "You know, I think I might actually like that name; it almost has a nice ring to it."

"Really…?" Sherlock asked in shock; Harry had never before admitted to liking any of the names he'd teased him with over the years.

"No. It's just not as bad as some of the other wretched names you've come up with. I still intend to keep just plain old Harry. Maybe you should focus your efforts on giving Mr. Black a first name that doesn't inspire him to make bad puns every time someone uses the word 'serious' in a question or statement."

"Oi, leave me out if it!" Mr. Black adamantly protested. "I'll have you know that my name is a very traditional name that is steeped in infamy and intrigue."

"I rest my case," Harry quipped as he shut his violin case and snapped the locks shut.

"He's got you there, Padfoot," Remus pointed out around another quiet chuckle.

"No one asked for any comments from the peanut gallery," Sirius grumbled before he moved his knight to take Remus's bishop; the wizards using a non-magical chess set since the amount of active magic in a wizarding chess set was high enough to cause Harry discomfort.

Harry snickered at the two wizards' silliness and grabbed the handle of his violin case so he could put it away as Little Lady reclaimed his shoulder. He had just turned towards the bookcase where all of his handheld instruments were kept when he felt a large surge of magic enter the building through the threads of Namelessness that he constantly wove throughout the entire building (excluding bathrooms and bedrooms). Harry jerked around to face the door as the color drained from his face; there were only a dozen trusted wizards that knew where he lived and each and every one of them knew better than to enter the building using any form of magic unless it was a dire emergency.

"Mr. Holmes, you need to call your brother; a bunch of unfamiliar wizards and Mr. Dumbledore just popped into the building using magic," Harry rasped as he immediately sought to assess the threat level of the trespassing wizards (as he'd been taught).

"Mycroft just texted me; he's already aware of the intruders and he'll be here in two minutes," Dr. Watson stated even as he shut down his laptop and grabbed the pistol and ammunition clips he kept locked in his desk. "Where is Mrs. Hudson and where is she in relation to the intruders?"

"Relaxing in her sitting room with her feet up; she only just finished passing out the last of the treats she'd made to the trick-or-treaters that knocked on the door tonight," Harry replied as he composed himself and hurried to put his violin away. He then hurried to his suite of rooms (he'd stopped calling it a playhouse two years earlier) to grab the riding crop he sometimes carried and used as a weapon (since he wasn't allowed to carry an actual sword). "All six wizards are just hovering about in the entryway; it doesn't appear as if Mrs. Hudson heard them arrive – that or they used magic to keep her from hearing them, the entryway currently reeks of their magic."

"Black, Lupin; cover the door. Harry, I want you on the top floor of your rooms; out of sight but prepared to move quickly if needs be," Sherlock ordered crisply. "John, you need to take your place behind the curtains where you can cover the door without being seen. I will stay right here to provide them with a visual target and draw their attention the moment they attempt to barge through the door."

Harry didn't hesitate to comply with his orders; he knew better than to argue with Sherlock in an emergency. He felt Little Lady's claws dig into his shoulder as he ran across the bottom floor of his suite (the interior had been magically expanded to accommodate his full height by Mr. Lupin for his birthday that year) to reach the ladder at the back of the structure. He easily ignored the irritating bite of her claws sinking into his flesh, knowing she wasn't hurting him on purpose, as he quickly shuffled up the ladder and onto the upper floor.

Harry then spent a moment regulating his breathing to calm his emotions before he wrapped a large ribbon of the Namelessness around him to hide his and Little Lady's presence while he continued to monitor the locations of everyone currently inside of the building. Another thread of Namelessness was then sent outside of the building to find and track his guardian. He found the older man quickly striding toward the main entrance and Harry couldn't help but note the irritated scowl his guardian was currently wearing.

A smirk slid across Harry's face as Mycroft entered the building and immediately began dressing down the wizards and witches that were hovering in the entryway. A frown replaced the smirk a split second later as soon as he realized that Mycroft had known that the magicals would be heading to Baker Street long before they arrived. Using his riding crop, Harry tapped out that information in Morse Code against the wall for Dr. Watson and Sherlock.

He then tapped out a warning the moment the group began heading up the stairs with Harry's guardian in the lead. He'd barely stilled his riding crop when there was a knock on the flat door; Mycroft deftly rapping out a complex pattern that basically translated to; friendlies entering – hold fire. One of the wizards, a man with greasy hair and a large, beak-shaped nose, made a disparaging remark about pandering to egos that Mycroft responded to with an icy glare that shut the man up.

"Enter," Sherlock called out as he propped himself up against the fireplace mantel after snagging his skull of its resting place; other people always found it disturbing when Sherlock handled the skull. Harry thought it was cool; though that was only because it was obviously old and no longer had any traces of blood on it. The sight of blood still greatly disturbed him; especially when there was a large amount of it. "Mycroft, how nice of you to give me ample warning that you would be dropping by this evening; with guests in tow no less."

Harry focused on the strangers and saw several faces grimace in distaste when they noted the skull in Sherlock's hands as he spun the old bone between his fingers with irreverence. The two witches (one of whom was exceedingly tall and somewhat homely in appearance and the other of whom was older with a stern visage) looked particularly ill over the display. The greasy man just sneered and dismissed Sherlock as insignificant before he began subtly waving his wand around behind his back.

Irritated by the blatant attempt to cast magic in his home without permission, Harry used the Namelessness to contain the thread of magic that slipped free of the man's wand and forced it back into the wand; causing the wood of the device to rapidly heat up and make the man hiss in shock as he dropped his now smoking wand. That was a trick Harry had taught himself to protect himself from unfriendly spell-fire on Sherlock's insistence. Harry's smirk was vicious; that would teach the ill-mannered lout to dare pollute his home with his magic.

"Now that wasn't very nice Snivellus; don't you know it's impolite to cast spells in someone else's home without permission? I wouldn't try that again; this entire flat is layered with protective wards," Mr. Black barked as he dropped the charm he'd used to hide himself before he kicked the greasy man's wand over to where Mr. Lupin had remained hidden on the other side of the door. His godfather seeking to cover for Harry's ability in order to protect the fourteen year old from the unwanted attention or persecution he would receive if his fractured core were to become common knowledge.

"Black," the greasy man snarled viciously. "What did you do!?"

"Nothing; unlike you, I was taught proper manners growing up and know how to use them when the situation calls for it. Maybe you should go crawling back to your master on your knees and beg him for lessons. Oh, wait; you can't. Your lord and master was scattered to the four winds well over a decade ago."

"Mr. Dumbledore, control your lapdog or send him away," Mycroft ordered sharply as he twisted around to glare at the greasy man once more. "I am uncertain as to why you chose to bring him to this meeting in the first place; he has no business being anywhere near this building."

"Severus is here by my invitation; he has my complete trust…" Mr. Dumbledore began to explain only for Mycroft to cut him off.

"You were not given leave to invite him to this meeting, let alone this building," Mycroft sharply retorted as he swung his glare around to Mr. Dumbledore. "I allowed you to demand this meeting because you said that a situation had arisen that will have a grave impact upon my ward; I never gave you permission to turn this meeting into a tea party for your amusement. Every single individual that you brought here tonight will swear an Unbreakable Vow to never impart the address of this building or even hint at its general location to anyone without my express permission before they leave tonight or things will become extremely unpleasant for you and your ilk."

"Now see here, you can't…" the man with the mustache and long goatee who was wearing a fur hat and a fur lined cloak blustered indignantly.

"Yes, he can; Igor," Mr. Dumbledore corrected in a weary tone. "We are not here to start an argument. Severus, you would do well to not antagonize those whose hospitality we are imposing on."

"How dull; I was looking forward to the evening's entertainment," Sherlock intoned in a bored tone as he flipped the skull up into the air before he caught it and gently replaced it on the mantel. He then crossed his arms and stepped away from the fireplace as he carefully inspected the five unfamiliar arrivals. "What exactly was so important that you dared to disturb us tonight, of all nights, Mycroft?"

"I am here to inform you that Mr. Potter was entered into a binding contact earlier this evening and that he must return with me to Hogwarts Castle to participate in the Tri-Wizard Tournament or his life will be forfeit," Mr. Dumbledore gravely intoned.

"My ward has entered into no such contract," Mycroft corrected dismissively.

"I did not say that Mr. Potter had willingly or knowingly entered into a binding contract," Mr. Dumbledore countered in a tone that was laced with a hint of exasperation. "We believe that someone used dark magic to confound an ancient magical artifact into forcefully binding Mr. Potter to the Tournament in order to draw him out. A search for the person or persons responsible has already been initiated. In the meantime, it is imperative that I take Mr. Potter with me tonight when I return to Scotland."

"No," Sherlock firmly refused.

"To refuse to allow Mr. Potter to participate in the Tournament is to condemn him to certain death," the impeccably dressed wizard with the neatly trimmed mustache interjected solemnly.

"Just when I thought the average IQ level in this room couldn't get any lower, you had to open your mouth and prove me wrong," Sherlock sniped as he shot the man a look of superiority. "I did not say that I would not allow him to participate in your silly little Tournament, though I am highly skeptical of the validity of binding a minor to a contract without his or his guardian's permission. I merely refused to allow a gaggle of plebeians from a backwards society to whisk away the young man whose health and well being were entrusted to me."

"Mr. Potter will need to be within twenty miles of the Goblet of Fire, which holds the contract to which he has been bound, for the duration of the Tournament or the Goblet will see his absence as a breach of contract and punish him accordingly," Mr. Dumbledore grimly stated.

"And just how long is this Tournament supposed to last?" Mycroft inquired before Sherlock could say anything else.

"The three tasks of the Tournament were spread out over the course of the school term in order to provide the selected champions with plenty of time to prepare for each task," the impeccably dressed wizard replied.

"That revelation has done nothing to change my mind," Sherlock stated in an irritated tone. "Your intentions will not only disrupt his schedule for an entire year without any consideration for his wants and needs but you are attempting to remove him from my care entirely for the duration of your silly tournament and that is unacceptable."

"Why are we wasting time arguing with this filth; just Obliviate the dirty little muggles and grab the boy," the man that had been identified as Igor growled.

"Just try it, Karkaroff," Mr. Black snarled heatedly. "The moment you reach for your wand, you're a dead man and the world will be well shot of one more Death Eater scum."

"Crudeness aside, Headmaster Karkaroff has made a valid point zough; we are wasting time here and our champions are still waiting for us back at ze castle," the tall, homely woman pointed out in a heavy French accent.

Harry sat numbly in the top floor of his private rooms as he tried to not to panic over the idea that he might be forcefully removed from his current home. He was also less than pleased with the idea of being forced to spend several months completely surrounded by magic and strangers. Little Lady pressed herself against his face and neck in a silent offer of comfort and Harry drew strength from her presence as he forced himself to focus on the sitting room.

"Enough; no one will be going anywhere until this matter has been resolved to my satisfaction," Mycroft stated in his Iceman personality.

"And who are you to order us so?" the French witch imperiously demanded.

"He is the British Government," Sherlock drawled airily before he sat down on the couch.

"That is not entirely an accurate description of my occupation but as far as the wizarding society is concerned, I suppose my brother is correct in saying that I am the British Government. On top of that, I am Mr. Potter's legal guardian; who was himself named a ward of the Crown five years ago. That means that any use of force upon any individual within this room will turn this _meeting_ into an international incident and I sincerely doubt that my contemporaries in France or Bulgaria would be pleased to learn that their citizens dared to attack a member of Her Majesty's Government or attempted to kidnap a member of Her nobility."

"Please, there is no need to escalate this matter further; we are all adults here, I am certain we can come to a peaceful accord," Mr. Dumbledore placated in a grandfatherly tone that held an undertone of panic and desperation.

"I completely agree," Mycroft replied in a superior tone. "Dr. Watson; I am certain that you will wish to be part of the upcoming discussion. Mr. Potter, you may stop hiding and come out now too."

Harry let out a silent sigh and quietly slipped back down the ladder to the bottom floor and used the access panel on the side of the ladder chute to exit instead of traversing the full length of the bottom floor. He then unwove the ribbon of Namelessness he had wrapped around him to hide his presence before he stepped out from behind his study while the six visitors were fully focused on Dr. Watson and Mr. Lupin as both men revealed themselves at the same time. It took a moment before any of the six visitors actually glanced around the room for him and a single, sharp gasp rang out and drew every eye in the room to where Harry was standing.

"Well, he certainly isn't much to look at, is he?" Mr. Karkaroff sniffed disdainfully as he eyed Harry with open distaste.

"Insult my godson again and they won't be able to find enough of you to send back to Durmstrang for the funeral, Karkaroff."

"Gentlemen, please," Mr. Dumbledore urged as he shot Mr. Karkaroff an annoyed look.

"Could we please stay focused on the matter at hand?" Dr. Watson demanded as he strode across the room while tucking his pistol into his waistband. "Harry's schedule has been disrupted enough and will undoubtedly suffer greatly over the next several months because improper precautions were taken to prevent someone from abusing whatever system you set up to select the participants for your tournament."

"Quite so," Mycroft agreed with a nod in Dr. Watson's direction. "Please be seated so that we may begin; ladies and gentlemen. Introductions would, of course, be an appropriate place to start."

"Of course, Mr. Holmes; allow me to present Headmistress Olympe Maxime, head of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France. Headmaster Igor Karkaroff, head of Durmstrang Institute of Northern Europe. Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Head of Gryffindor House, and Professor of Transfiguration. And Professor Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House and Professor of Potions at Hogwarts."

"I am Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft intoned as he settled into the chair at the head of the table. "Seated on the couch is my brother, Sherlock Holmes. Standing beside the table is Doctor John Watson. The two gentlemen by the door are my employees, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. And the young man standing behind me is Harry James Potter; my ward. Mr. Potter, please find a seat as you will need to remain present for the coming discussion since it will affect you and your studies for the coming year."

_And let the negotiations for the ruination of my life begin_, Harry pessimistically thought to himself as he made his way to the couch and sat down beside Sherlock a split second before Dr. Watson sat down in the remaining space so that the fourteen year old was protectively bracketed between the two men.

"Don't be so melodramatic," Sherlock lightly chided as he reached up to light rap Harry on the skull. "You need to focus on the coming discussion or barring that, on a list of things that can't be put off or rescheduled in the event that we can't find a way for your name to be withdrawn from their silly little game."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied with a sigh as he moved Little Lady down onto his lap so he could cuddle with her without being obvious; he was a grown boy, after all, and teenaged boys don't cuddle with cats (no matter how adorable said cat).

At least not openly.

* * *

><p><strong>Terms:<strong>

GCSE – General Certificate of Secondary Education  
>Stone – when used as a measure meant of weight 1 stone is equal to 14 pounds. Three stones is therefore the equivalent of forty-two pounds (which is how much weight Harry gained over a five year period).<p> 


	15. Hogwarts Hospitality

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Fourteen: Hogwarts Hospitality<span>

_Monday, October 31, 1994 10:45 P.M.  
>Hogwarts Castle, Scotland<em>

Harry felt an overwhelming wave of magic wash over him the moment Mr. Black had popped him and Little Lady up to Scotland via side-along apparation. The magical form of transport had been bad enough but it was the ambient magic in the air that was the biggest problem for the teen at the moment. It was ten times worse than visiting Diagon Alley (which he'd done at least once a month since his twelfth birthday) and he had a near crippling migraine within seconds of arriving. The only reason his nerves weren't on fire as well was because he'd wrapped the Namelessness around him to protect himself from the magic he'd been warned would be saturating the air before they'd left London.

He would have preferred to not come at all but being shanghaied into the Tournament had been the lesser of two evils since publicly stating that his Namelessness was incompatible with magic would have required disclosing his fractured core and that would have painted a large target on his back. So, it was far easier to pretend that the supposed contract could extract any type of punishment on him for a failure to show than it was to risk an entire magical society screaming for his blood. Well, technically it wasn't his blood they would want; they'd just demand his core be permanently sealed.

And the Namelessness was far too large a part of who he was for him to lose it. It was just as much a part of him as his blood and he needed it just as much as he needed air to breathe. Unfortunately, most magicals couldn't understand that and wouldn't even bother trying to understand that. All they would see was a dangerous weapon that needed to be locked away. That was one reason why all of those magicals in Mycroft's employ that were aware of Harry's condition had been required to swear an Unbreakable Vow to never reveal Harry's condition; Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin included.

"Are you alright, kiddo?" Mr. Black inquired lowly as several pops and cracks signaled the arrival of the others.

"No, the magic in the air started attacking me the instant we arrived. It's worse than the visits to Diagon Alley. I hate it here already and I just know the rest of my time here is going to be utterly miserable."

"That's the spirit, Halbert; nothing like a large dose of pessimism to put the world into the proper prospective," Sherlock cheerfully declared with an underscore of sarcasm.

"Your attempts to rename me are growing boring; that one lacked all imagination, Mr. Holmes," Harry countered around a wince as his head gave a particularly painful throb.

"And how, pray-tell, would you know? You've been insisting on keeping that dreadfully boring name you came with five years ago. That hardly makes you an expert on what constitutes an appropriately imaginative name."

"And your growing senility hardly inspires one's confidence in your ability to distinguish between creative thinking and merely losing touch with reality, old man."

A soft chorus of familiar chuckles sounded on the heels of Harry's retort and the teen felt a little better knowing that he wasn't alone; Sherlock, Dr. Watson, Mr. Black, and most importantly Little Lady were all near at hand. Mr. Lupin would be joining them the next day; the werewolf had been left in charge of transporting their belongings to the castle and to the temporary lodgings off the castle grounds that Mycroft was currently arranging so that Sherlock and Dr. Watson could keep in touch with the rest of the world.

After an hour of arguments, the terms of Harry's temporary transfer to Hogwarts had been suitably arranged to his guardian's satisfaction (or as satisfied as the man could be when one considers his dissatisfaction over the entire affair) and another hour had been spent packing for the nine month long trip. All of Harry's instruments (including his piano and drum set) were being brought by non-magical means (Harry had refused to allow any of the wizards to shrink them with their magic). That was on top of all of the technological equipment that Dr. Watson and Sherlock would need to keep in touch with those they were leaving behind in London.

Mycroft would also be making arrangements for Harry to continue his studies through correspondence rather than over the internet (since his laptop would be useless to him at Hogwarts). Thankfully, most of the classes he was taking this term were ones that didn't require a computer to complete assignments; meaning he could write out his work by hand instead of typing it up. Sherlock would be more than capable of monitoring both his music and fencing lessons during the year; the only two classes he had that couldn't be done through correspondence (or over the internet for that matter).

Security, in the form of bodyguards for both Harry and his two caretakers, had been also arranged by Mycroft. Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin were assigned as Harry's personal bodyguards since he was comfortable with both of them while an additional four wizards that worked for his guardian were assigned to Sherlock and Dr. Watson to protect them from magical attacks (only two of which had followed them to the castle that evening). Sherlock and Dr. Watson would also be part of Harry's protection detail; at least one of the two men would remain by Harry's side so long as he was staying in the castle – bar those times when he was participating in a Tournament task.

"Come, gentlemen, the castle is this way and Mr. Potter must be presented to the Goblet of Fire before the stroke of midnight," Mr. Dumbledore instructed as he used a burst of magic to open the large, towering gates the group had been standing beside since their arrival.

Harry fought back a sigh of resignation as he reached up to scratch Little Lady under the chin when she pressed up against the side of his neck and face in a silent offer of comfort. He then squared his shoulders and walked through the now open gates; Dr. Watson discreetly guiding him around any obstacles with gentle nudges (the man well aware that Harry was currently not up to using the Namelessness to guide himself due to the sheer volume of magic saturating the air). Once he passed through the gates, the amount of magic in the air was cut in half.

Harry let out a soft sigh of relief as his headache lessened as a result; though it didn't leave completely.

In a matter of minutes, their group was climbing up a small handful of steps to the main entrance of the castle. The doors to the castle squealed loudly in Harry's ears as they were pulled open despite the fact that he still wore the magical sound dampeners. Harry cringed in response to the irritating noise as it both hurt his ears and made his headache spike. As the group entered, four of the magicals that had been part of Mr. Dumbledore's group broke away from the group and headed deeper into the castle.

"Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Hogwarts Castle," Mr. Dumbledore intoned once the rest of the group had entered the castle. "If you will wait here with Professor McGonagall for a moment, I will prepare the Great Hall for your entrance and see to it that Mr. Potter has a clear path he can traverse to approach the Goblet of Fire." The bearded wizard didn't wait for a response as he swept away to follow the four that had disappeared a moment ago.

"And so the grandstanding begins; with Dumbledore ever eager to be the one to trot the show ponies out for the sheep of the wizarding world," Mr. Black muttered under his breath. "Manipulative old bastard."

"There was a time I would have taken you to task for daring to say such a thing, Mr. Black," Madam McGonagall primly stated in a clipped tone that held the traces of a Scottish accent. "Given the circumstances though, I can't say as I blame you for thinking uncharitable thoughts." The woman then turned to face Harry as she addressed the teen for the first time all evening, "Now that we have a moment of relative privacy; may I inquire as to why you wear a blindfold over your eyes, Mr. Potter?"

"To shield them from view, ma'am; I dislike the negative reactions strangers will often exhibit upon seeing my dead eyes for the first time. Using the blindfold spares their sensibilities and saves me from their unwanted pity or disgust."

"I see," Madam McGonagall replied with a laden tone. "I appreciate your willingness to explain. If, while you are here in Hogwarts, any of the students create any difficulties for you over your disability; please don't hesitate to bring it to my attention so that I might take the instigators to task."

"I will keep that in mind when it comes to those instances where an altercation with the student body does not escalate beyond words; however, should any student attack me with their magic, I will defend myself," Harry replied succinctly. "My companion has also been known to protect me from attacks and should anyone attempt to harm her using magic, I will defend her in return."

"That's Potter-speak for 'I will be turning the rest of your hair gray by the end of the year'," Mr. Black barked out with a snort of amusement.

"I shall be certain to stock up on headache potions and scotch at the first opportunity since I suspect that you were a bad influence upon him over the past few years," Madam McGonagall dryly retorted.

"And that would be McGonagall-speak for 'I've got your number and there are a dozen detentions with your name on them'," Mr. Black added without a trace of remorse.

Madam McGonagall let out a snort of amused exasperation but did not have any time to respond as the doors to the Great Hall were opened and the loud murmuring of a large crowd washed through the door. It was time for Harry to make his appearance. Grabbing hold of the courage that had been nurtured over the past five years by his guardian and caretakers, Harry lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and strode forth into the dragon's den. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him as he made his way down the isle that had been cleared from the entrance to the dais where a large object that positively reeked of magic sat.

Harry didn't even need the Namelessness to paint him a picture of the large room he'd entered; the oppressive weight of the magical object was a beacon brighter than any mere torch in the night. The murmuring of the students seated to both sides of his pathway rose and fell as he moved through the room but Harry ignored their voices in favor of concentrating on blocking out the growing pain in his nerves as the magic radiating from the object began overpowering what little protection the Namelessness could provide him with from active and ambient magic.

"Allow me to present, Harry Potter; the fourth champion of the one hundred, thirty-ninth Tri-Wizard Tournament," Mr. Dumbledore intoned loudly over the low hum of the crowd as Harry finally came to a stop just a few feet away from the Goblet of Fire.

Harry felt a rope of magic lash out at him from the Goblet of Fire and he nearly cried out in shock when it latched onto the Namelessness and pulled. He took a stumbling step forwards and reached out as if to grab hold of his Namelessness so that he could pull it free of the foreign magic. His hand connected with the Goblet of Fire instead and he felt his palm being sliced open on the rim of the two foot tall Goblet. The moment his blood came into contact with the Goblet, Harry felt a thread of magic slip through the open cut and tie itself to the Namelessness before the bulk of the artifact's magic healed the cut and withdrew.

The magic of the Goblet of Fire went dormant just seconds later, bar the thread that tied him to the artifact and bound him to the contract of the Tournament. At the same time, Harry felt the ambient magic pressing down on him drift away as the Goblet of Fire's ancient magic provided him with a measure of protection against the wild magic that lived in the very air of the castle and surrounding environment. The Namelessness stirred restlessly for several minutes before it settled down and spread out throughout the room to give Harry a clear view of the entire Great Hall for the first time since entering the room.

"Mr. Potter, you will need to join your fellow champions in the antechamber off to the right of the Great Hall in order to hear the details regarding the first task of the Tournament," Mr. Dumbledore stated a moment later.

Mr. Black, in his animagus form of a dog, bounded up to Harry's side at that point and gently grabbed Harry's hand in his mouth and led him towards the room in question (not that he really needed that guidance now). Sherlock met the two of them at the door and entered the room first before holding the door open for Harry. At the same time, Dr. Watson and the two wizards currently on hand to watch over Dr. Watson and Sherlock were being led off towards the suite of rooms that they would be staying in by Madam McGonagall; the three of them would be securing their rooms while Harry was being briefed on the first task.

Inside of the antechamber, Harry quickly noted the presence of Olympe Maxime, Igor Karkaroff, and Bartemius Crouch along with three older teenagers (two boys and one girl) and an unfamiliar man. The three teens were obviously the other champions while he assumed that the final wizard in the room was one of the Tournament's officials since he had been included in the current grouping.

The unfamiliar man eyed Harry with obvious interest while the three teens openly assessed him before one of the boys and the girl ignored him and the third teen continued to study him. Harry assessed the three teens in turn; quickly taking note of their physical condition as well as gauging the strength of their magic based upon the strength of the reaction their magical auras drew from the Namelessness.

All three of them were reasonably strong, magically, but still no where near as strong as Mr. Black (whom he was currently using as a reference). The girl's magic held a trace of wildness in it that made him wary though since he wasn't certain what it meant. Once he'd finished assessing the other champions, Harry took a moment to assess the unfamiliar wizard but quickly determined that the man was not a threat; his magic weaker than the three teens and his physical condition had obviously gone to seed (the man overweight and unfit).

"Mr. Potter, please allow me to introduce you to Ludo Bagman, the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports; he is also one of the Tournament officials," Mr. Dumbledore announced as he swept into the room on Harry's heels.

"It is an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Potter," Mr. Bagman gushed as the man bounded over to Harry's side and the only thing that stopped the man from manhandling Harry was Mr. Black's canine growl as he released Harry's hand and stepped in front of the fourteen year old.

"Mr. Bagman," Harry reservedly acknowledged with a nod so as not to appear rude.

"Next we have your fellow champions: Durmstrang's champion, Viktor Krum; Beauxbatons' champion, Fleur Delacour; and Hogwarts' champion, Cedric Diggory. Everyone, this young man is Harry Potter; the unplanned fourth champion. He will be representing an independent institution during the Tournament."

"That was not the agreement my brother made with you, Mr. Dumbledore," Sherlock interjected as he pulled himself away from the hanging tapestries that he'd been inspecting. "Mr. Potter is to represent the British Government and the Crown as Her Majesty's champion. The Crown hardly falls into the category of an independent institution. I would advise you to avoid all future attempts to misrepresent the Queen's champion."

"No slight was intended, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock merely sniffed in disdain before he resumed prowling the edges of the chamber. Harry had to fight back a smile over his caretaker's behavior; Sherlock had seemingly made it his life's ambition to annoy every person in existence and he had certainly made great strides towards achieving his goal. Magicals, and Anderson, seemed to find him particularly irritating for some reason.

"Well, now that we finally have all four of our champions present, it is time for us to inform you what the first task will entail," Mr. Crouch stated; his declaration drawing everyone's attention. "Bagman, if you would?"

"First, allow me to extend my congratulations to all four of you for being selected to represent your schools, or in Mr. Potter's case the Queen, in the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Mr. Bagman declared with a toothy grin as he rubbed his hands together enthusiastically and studied each of the champions in turn. "The first task is designed to test your courage in the face of the unknown armed only with your wands and will be held on Saturday, November twenty-sixth in front of the panel of tournament judges and the student body."

"The champions are also not permitted to seek or accept help from their professors for any of the tasks and information about the second task will be given to you once the first task has been completed," Mr. Crouch added when Mr. Bagman trailed off. "Due to the demanding nature of the tournament, all champions are exempt from the end of term exams."

"If there are no questions, then the four of you are dismissed for the evening," Mr. Dumbledore stated less than a minute later when it became apparent that no one was going to speak up.

Mr. Karkaroff and Madam Maxime were quick to sweep their champions out of the room; both of the foreign school heads still obviously upset about the way things had turned out. Mr. Diggory, the Hogwarts' champion, hesitated for a brief moment before he too left the room. The two Ministry officials left next, leaving Harry alone with his two protectors and Mr. Dumbledore.

"If you will follow me, gentlemen, I will show you to your rooms and introduce you to the house elf that has been assigned to tend to your needs for the duration of your stay in the castle," Mr. Dumbledore stated once the room had been cleared.

Harry had barely taken two steps after Mr. Dumbledore when a burst of flames and song heralded the arrival of Fawkes as the phoenix flashed into the room. The bird then proceeded to scold Mr. Dumbledore for several minutes before he landed on Harry's shoulder that was not currently occupied by Little Lady.

"My apologies, Fawkes, I had originally planned to inform you of Mr. Potter's presence in the castle when I retired for the evening," Mr. Dumbledore replied indulgently in response to the chastisement from his familiar.

"Hello, Fawkes; it's nice to see you again," Harry greeted with a laugh as the phoenix promptly began grooming his hair while grumbling melodiously under his breath; he had always enjoyed the periodical visits from the phoenix through the years – said visits usually occurring on Christmas morning and his birthday (though he rarely ever stayed for long).

The group began moving once more at that point; Mr. Black resuming his human form so he could guide Harry through the magical tricks and traps that littered the castle. It would take them a good hour to navigate the castle's corridors (mostly because Sherlock kept falling behind to inspect a random magical item or art piece that caught his interest). Mr. Dumbledore bid them goodnight outside of the statue that stood guard over their suite of rooms after introducing them to a female house elf by the name of Mimzy. Inside of the rooms, they found Dr. Watson waiting up for them.

Harry crashed for the night in the sitting room that connected their suite of rooms just a few minutes later without even bothering to search out the room that had been prepared for him; the teen curling up in the corner of the couch with both Little Lady and Fawkes snuggled up with him.

The fourteen year old would be up late the next morning due to the long night messing up his sleep schedule. He'd eat a light, late breakfast to stay his hunger until lunch time before he spent the rest of the morning working on his French lessons. Mr. Lupin would arrive with their luggage along with lunch just a few minutes after twelve and Harry would spend the rest of the afternoon putting his things away in his assigned room before setting up his instruments in the sitting room. Their plans and preparations for the evening meal would be interrupted by an elf delivered request for them to attend supper in the Great Hall with the students and staff of all three schools.

Harry was inclined to refuse but Sherlock insisted they go; stating that it wouldn't do to appear weak in front of the other champions by refusing to sup with them. That was how Harry found himself being escorted back down to the Great Hall dressed in black slacks, black dinner jacket, white dress shirt, dark red tie, a dark red blindfold, and Little Lady perched on his shoulder as usual.

His entrance into the already packed dining hall caused a wave of silence to pass through the room before a dull roar of mutters and murmurs started up when people saw what Harry and the adults with him were wearing. They were the only individuals in the entire castle that were not dressed in some variation of a robe; something that made them stand out even more so than they normally would. That was just fine in Harry's mind; he had no wish to be mistaken for a proper wizard.

Harry paused just inside of the Great Hall and allowed the Namelessness to sweep the room for him as he searched the four tables of students for the table with the least number of individuals present so he would not end up being crowded by the other students. He quickly settled on the table beneath the red and gold banner; the one that he knew was for the students of Gryffindor House based upon what he'd learned of the school through Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin over the past few years. He had just began making his way towards the group of open seats he'd spotted when he was accosted by a trio of boys roughly his own age wearing the green and silver of Slytherin House.

"I am here to extend an invitation for you to join us at Slytherin's table, Potter. It would be best if you were to have one of your muggle servants fetch a proper robe for you to wear before you join us there, however."

"Invitation declined," Harry drawled in a dismissive tone as his companions allowed him to handle the situation due to the fact that the one approaching him was also a child (though that wouldn't stop them from stepping in if it became necessary).

"I suggest that you reconsider, Potter; you would do well to follow my lead least you end up making enemies here in the castle. I would hate to see you fall in with the wrong sort."

"And you would do well to engage your brain before you open your mouth. I have no desire to associate with a self-centered child with no manners; not only did you fail to properly introduce yourself and your companions but you rudely insulted my companions and presumed to tell me how I should dress."

"Mark my words, Potter; you'll regret this."

"I already do; meeting you has had a negative effect on my appetite and I find your presence quite nauseating," Harry retorted before he made to step around the obstruction.

The boy attempted to block Harry but Mr. Black stepped in between the two teens at that point as he addressed the blonde (the older wizard had obviously recognized the boy), "I suggest you return to your seat, Malfoy."

"When my father hears about this…"

"I will take him to task for not teaching you how to properly behave in the presence of your mother's head of house and his heir."

"Who are you to talk to me that way?"

"I am Baron Black, Head of House Black and you, dear cousin, are treading on thin ice. I suggest you return to your seat and forget any future attempts at accosting my godson and heir."

Malfoy flushed bright pink before he and his unspeaking bookends scampered back to their table. Harry tracked them with the Namelessness even as he once more resumed his trek through the room. Two minutes later, he settled into a seat mid-way down the Gryffindor table with Little Lady on his lap as Mr. Black slipped into the seat on his right while Dr. Watson sat down on his left. Mr. Lupin would then seat himself direction across from him while Sherlock moved to join the head table where a seat had been reserved for him. Two of the four wizards assigned to guard Sherlock and Dr. Watson took up positions just beside the main entrance of the room while the other two would take up positions behind the staff table to watch over Sherlock.

The food for the evening's meal appeared on the table just a few second later and Harry gave his attention to Dr. Watson as the man filled his plate for him and arranged his place setting to resemble his usual meal settings so that he could easily find everything. He could have done it himself but he knew the man was feeling out of sorts and needed the familiarity of helping Harry far more than Harry needed the help. That, and it was just far easier to allow Dr. Watson to 'mother' him from time to time than to make a scene over something that wasn't really hurting him.

As he picked up his fork and start on the meal, Harry couldn't help but wish he was still back in London.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

* Professional titles for wizards and witches – the reason why Harry, Watson, Sherlock, and Mycroft don't address any of the wizards or witches by their proper titles (such as professor) will be addressed later in the story. Sirius's title of nobility will also be explained later in the story (much later).


	16. Onerous Obligations

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Fifteen: Onerous Obligations<span>

_Friday, November 18, 1994 1:15 P.M.  
>Hogwarts Castle, Scotland<em>

Harry's fingers walked and danced across the keyboard of his practice piano to fill the sitting room of their guest suite with Beethoven's Bagatelle No. 25 in A Minor (better known as Für Elise). It was one of his favorite piano pieces and one that he often found relaxing to play. It also happened to be one of the earliest pieces he'd learned how to play when Mrs. Holmes first began teaching him to play the piano. Another one of his personal favorites was the first movement of Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 14 (also known as Moonlight Sonata); which he'd played first before launching right into Für Elise.

Over the past seventeen days, Harry had spent most of his time holed up in the guest suite playing piece after piece on the various instruments he'd brought with him to the castle when he wasn't working on his studies. Normally, he didn't play quite so extensively throughout the day but music was the only escape he had from his frustration and unhappiness at being at Hogwarts. He couldn't step outside of their guest suite without being hounded by the other children that wanted something from him; whether it was an autograph, his life's story, his friendship, or to browbeat him into acting like a 'proper' wizard.

He hated it.

While he'd always enjoyed spending time and playing with other children, he did not enjoy pushy children. He was also not used to interacting with the same groups of children day in and day out and their relentlessness drove him spare. The worst of the lot were those that were students of Hogwarts; those teens and pre-teens that would have been his peers had he attended Hogwarts as he was originally supposed to. The Hogwarts' students felt they were entitled to him and his time and he greatly resented them for their invasion of his privacy and his personal space.

More than one rabid fan had been deduced to tears by Sherlock (mostly those that were seventeen or older) and by Harry himself (those closer to his age) during the rare moments he left his sanctuary. Little Lady had raked her claws across more than a few hands and faces; the kneazle had quickly grown impatient with those individuals that irritated Harry with their attempts to manhandle him. That wasn't even counting those that had been given a taste of Harry's riding crop when they'd attempted to hex him or his only friend (most of the people in this final group were from Slytherin House; Malfoy and his trollish bookends in particular seemed too dense to learn their lesson after the first time).

That wasn't to say all of the children pestered him; they didn't. He'd even had a few pleasant conversations with a small handful of individuals. The problem was that the annoying ones outnumbered the tolerable ones by at least thirty to one. It didn't help that most of the school staff (and Mr. Snape in particular) turned a blind eye to the antics of their students; the most notable exception being Madam McGonagall and she couldn't be every where at once.

Even if he was to discount the presence of annoying children with no respect for his privacy and personal space, he still would not have enjoyed spending time in Hogwarts. The entire castle was a walking death trap for him. Hidden tricks and traps littered the staircases, the staircases and passageways moved, and all of the landmarks he normally would have used to traverse the castle frequently walked away from their assigned positions.

Then there were the rumors and tales that circulated through the castle about what had happened over the past three years (during the time that he'd have been in the castle if he'd been allowed to attend).

During what would have been his first year, a first year girl had been killed by a mountain troll that broke into the castle, three older students had been mauled by a giant dog that had been kept inside the castle, an illegal dragon had done extensive damage to the grounds, and a professor had died under suspicious circumstances. The year following that had seen a streak of unsolved attacks that had turned students to stone, another first year girl killed (her body never found), and a second year boy permanently hospitalized after being attacked by a teacher (the memory of the boy's entire life wiped from his mind). The most recent year had been fairly tame by comparison with just a single teacher being attacked in her private chambers by an unknown assailant.

Even more disturbing was the fact that only one of the assailants had been identified (the professor that had attacked and removed the memory of the second year boy during the second year) and aside from the creatures that had been involved, none of the attackers had actually been captured; meaning that there was at least one murderer on the loose in addition to the memory thief. A staff member had been arrested and sentenced to five years in prison but that was only because he'd been the one to hatch out the illegal dragon – not because he'd actually (let alone intentionally) harmed any of the staff or students.

Sherlock had been intrigued by the unsolved mysteries and he'd taken to hunting down all of the rumors surrounding the attacks and deaths. He'd also gone hunting for clues inside of Hogwarts; often stealing Mr. Black or Mr. Lupin since the two men knew the castle inside and out. Knowing that Sherlock had something to occupy his mind was actually a relief to both Harry and Dr. Watson; the man was well known to cause all kinds of trouble when he grew bored and sometimes even when he wasn't.

The final thing that bothered Harry was the fact that the Namelessness had been behaving oddly ever since the ancient magic in the Goblet of Fire had latched onto it on Halloween night. He could still use it to 'see', 'hear', and move things but he now saw afterimages, heard echoes, and had to wrestle for control when using the Namelessness to physically interact with an object. Harry suspected that it had something to do with the fact that the Namelessness no longer had to fight off the ambient magic that usually 'attacked' him. Whatever it was, it was annoying and the only time he could drown out the oddness was when he played.

Harry's music practice was interrupted at that point by the surprising arrival of Mycroft Holmes; whom he had not seen since Halloween night (though he had corresponded with his guardian several times over the past two weeks). Stilling his hands, Harry spun on bench to face the general direction of his guardian to show he was aware that he was there.

"Mr. Potter, please go clean yourself up and put on one of your nicer suits; you are required to attend a small press conference this afternoon as one of the Tri-Wizard Tournament champions," Mycroft instructed the moment he had Harry's complete attention.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Holmes," Harry replied with a grimace of distaste; he disliked the media with a passion and had from the first moment he'd been introduced to reporters and photographers years earlier on the heels of his aunt and uncle being convicted of child neglect and child imprisonment.

Knowing he would be unable to get out of attending the press conference (his guardian's presence alone enough to tell him that), Harry wasted no time in washing his hands and face, changing into a simple black suit and light blue dress shirt with a black tie, and attempting to bring a semblance of order to his perpetually messy hair. He also took a moment to brush out Little Lady's coat before putting her in her best black harness and clipping the matching leash into place. The last two things he did before he returned to the sitting room were to change the blindfold he was wearing so that it matched his suit and grab his riding crop.

His guardian gave him a quick inspection before he led Harry out of the guest suite into the hall where they were immediately joined by Mycroft's ever present assistant, Anthea, and both Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin; all three of whom were dressed in sleek black suits. Harry had to hide a smirk when he noticed Athena's hands twitching; the woman was obviously not happy to be without her mobile phone (the device unable to function around such a large concentration of magic). Anthea gave him a look that said she had noticed his amusement and that she wasn't pleased to be the source of his current entertainment; which only made his smirk that much harder to hide.

Their small group was soon moving once more as Mr. Black led the way to the room where the press conference was to be held. Their group would be the first to join the Tournament officials and media representatives. Harry was a little surprised to find that there was only one reporter present along with a single photographer; he was far more used to seeing the media travel in large groups like the pack of hyenas they often resembled. He had thought that there would be at least three reporters present; one to represent the countries of each school participating in the Tournament.

Harry had barely entered the room before he was being accosted by the female reporter, "There you are, Mr. Potter; I am Rita Skeeter with the _Daily Prophet_ and I have been most eager to meet with you for the last three years."

"Please show some restraint, Ms. Skeeter," Mycroft intoned in a curt tone as halted the woman's advancement with his umbrella when she attempted to latch onto Harry's arm.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Rita demanded with obvious annoyance that was barely veiled with the fake grin that she plastered on her face while she tried to inch closer to Harry.

"Mycroft Holmes; Mr. Potter's guardian and I would greatly appreciate it if you would cease your attempts to manhandle my ward before I have you arrested for assaulting a minor."

"I have no intention of harming the child; I simply wish to speak with him for a few moments."

"If you wish to interview my ward, you will need to submit a list of questions that you would like to ask him to my office for approval before you will be granted an appointment to meet with him. This press conference was called to cover the Tri-Wizard Tournament and therefore does not grant you permission to approach my ward on any matters unrelated to the Tournament. Speaking of which; Mr. Crouch, where are the representatives for the other wizarding publications? Should they not be here to provide adequate coverage of the Tournament?"

"The _Daily Prophet_ is the leading newspaper within the wizarding world, Mr. Holmes; no other reporters are necessary," Mr. Crouch replied with a trace of annoyance.

"The Tri-Wizard Tournament is a multinational event," Mycroft countered as he arched an eyebrow in response to the wizard's attitude. "Are you so wrapped up in your self importance that you couldn't even be bothered to contact the editors of the Parisian _L'Étoile Enchantée_ or Northern Europe's _Mystic Zeiten_? Is this event not supposed to be about international cooperation?" Mycroft then turned to address Mr. Lupin.

"Mr. Lupin, please return to my London office and get in contact with the editors of Magical Europe's major newspapers and magazines and make arrangements for them to send a representative to Hogwarts in the next hour. You might as well contact the editors of _Witch Weekly_ and _The Quibbler_ at the same time and extend the same offer to them. If they balk at the short notice, inform them that my office will gladly pay their expenses for the duration of the Tournament; so long as their expenses are properly documented and submitted with valid receipts."

"Now see here, you can't just walk in here and tell us how to run this Tournament," Mr. Crouch protested vehemently as Mr. Lupin vanished through the nearest exit.

"You'll find that I can and will interfere when and where I see fit; you signed away any right to protest my involvement the moment you allowed my underage ward to be dragged into this Tournament as a direct result of the lax security and poor planning on your part."

Harry felt a surge of affection for his guardian in that moment; the man may have been rather cold and distant at times but there was no denying that he consistently looked out for Harry's best interests. He shuddered to think of what might have happened to him if Mycroft hadn't been with him when Ms. Skeeter approached him; she could have easily hauled him off to a closet, grilled him endlessly, and written an entirely fabricated article that painted him in the worst possible light.

Fleur Delacour would enter the room a few minutes later on the heels of Madam Maxime. Cedric Diggory would be the next one to arrive, the sixth year Hogwarts student entering alone. Victor Krum would turn up with Mr. Karkaroff about five minutes after the Hogwarts champion. Another ten minutes would then pass before a harried looking plump witch with strong smelling manure on the hem of her robes and twigs in her hair rushed into the room.

The newly arrived witch promptly hurried across the room to stand with Mr. Diggory as Mr. Black leaned down to quietly state, "That is Professor Pomona Sprout; head of Hufflepuff House and the professor of Herbology. She's known to a very pleasant woman who believes in fair play but she can be as mean as a badger when her temper is roused."

Harry nodded his thanks for the information; he'd not met all of the staff to date because of his tendency to hide away in his assigned quarters to avoid the students. The only time he really 'saw' any of the staff was during the handful of meals he'd taken in the Great Hall or in passing when returning to the guest suite.

Mr. Dumbledore arrived just over a half an hour after Harry had first entered the room with a very familiar wizard in tow. Harry had often visited Mr. Ollivander's wand shop each time Sherlock had taken him to Diagon Alley; Sherlock had sought out the Wandmaker's expertise in magical foci and theory on a number of occasions. The fourteen year old briefly wondered why Mr. Ollivander was present before he refocused his attention on the room as Mr. Dumbledore began speaking.

"Wonderful, I see that all four of our champions are present and accounted for," Mr. Dumbledore intoned in his usual grandfatherly tone. "If our four champions could form a line; we will begin with the Weighing of the Wands."

"Not so fast, Mr. Dumbledore; we are still waiting on a few late arrivals," Mycroft interjected before anyone could so much as take a single step. "They should be arriving at the gates within the next half an hour."

"I must profess to being a bit confused as to who we are waiting on, Mr. Holmes; all of the champions are present and accounted for as are the Tournament officials and the press."

"On the contrary, Mr. Dumbledore, there is only one media representative present due to a lack of foresight on the part of the Tournament's planning committee. I took the liberty of correcting that oversight and representatives of all the major European newspapers and magazines that cater to the magical communities should be on their way. It is, after all, only appropriate that the French and Bulgarian media be offered an equal opportunity to cover such a prestigious event as the Tri-Wizard Tournament due to the fact that this is an international competition; wouldn't you agree?"

"Quite so," Mr. Dumbledore replied with a congenial smile that didn't quite hide his slight annoyance at Mycroft's interference. Mr. Karkaroff and Madam Maxime both looked rather surprised over the potential opportunity to have media coverage from their homelands; which would translate into more prestige for their schools since very few families on the continent actually subscribed to the _Daily Prophet_; the British paper famous for being exceedingly biased. "I will send someone to meet them at the gate."

The bearded wizard flicked his wand to cast a spell and a misty white light that was vaguely birdlike streaked out of the room just seconds later. An elf was then called to provide seating for the anticipated journalists. It was just five minutes later that the additional reporters began arriving with photographers in tow; most of them eager for the opportunity they'd been provided courtesy of Mycroft. By the time the last of them arrived, alongside the returning Mr. Lupin, there were representatives from twelve wizarding newspapers and seven different magazines.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Mr. Dumbledore greeted once all of the reporters had been seated while the photographers spread themselves out along the back wall. "You have all been invited here today to bear witness to the Weighing of the Wands; the traditional opening ceremony of the Tri-Wizard Tournament that is designed to confirm that each chosen champion has a functioning wand for their coming trials. I will ask that you hold all of your questions until after the ceremony has been concluded, when there will be ample time for each of you to ask a few questions of our champions and the Tournament officials. Officiating the ceremony will be Mr. Garrick Ollivander; Britain's chief authority on wand lore and an internationally accredited Wandmaker."

"Shall we start with your wand, Mr. Krum?" Ollivander inquired as he held his hand out for the wand. "Ah, this is one of Gregorovitch's creations; hornbeam, ten and one quarter inches, quite rigid, with a dragon heartstring core." The Wandmaker gave the wand a flick and produced a shower of red and orange arrows that burst into sparks above the four champions' heads before they faded. "Good, good, that one seems to be in excellent condition."

"Miss Delacour, if I may?" Ollivander asked once he'd returned Krum's wand and moved to accept the wand from the young French witch. "Let us see… rosewood, nine a half inches, rather inflexible, with a… is that a veela hair core?"

"Oui, it is from my grandmother."

Ollivander nodded as he gave the wand a wave and released hundreds of purple, green, and pink bubbles that hovered in the air before several minutes before popping into a shower of multicolored glitter that disappeared before it touched the floor. The Wandmaker then turned to Cedric and accepted the wand the Hufflepuff held out without needing to be asked.

"Ah, Mr. Diggory, I well remember when you came into my shop six years ago for this wand… a pleasantly springy spruce, twelve and a quarter inches, with a core containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn."

This time Ollivander drew forth a small shooting star that rose up towards the ceiling before exploding into a shower of yellow dust that vanished as it drifted back towards the floor. The old man then turned towards Harry, a small frown briefly crossing his face before he stated, "Mr. Potter, I find it rather curious to learn that you are participating in the Tri-Wizard Tournament given what I know of your disability. I wish you luck and shall pray for the Lady of the Lake to guide you through the coming trials."

Mr. Ollivander then walked away to the confusion of most everyone since only a small number of people present were actually aware of the fact that Harry did not own a wand. Mr. Crouch cleared his throat to catch the Wandmaker's attention before he pointed out, "Mr. Ollivander, you still need to test Mr. Potter's wand."

"That would be impossible, Mr. Crouch," Mr. Ollivander replied with a small mysterious smile.

"What is zat supposed to mean?" Madam Maxime demanded with a frown.

"It means, Madam Maxime, that my ward does not own a wand and therefore has no wand to be tested," Mr. Holmes answered in the Wandmaker's place.

Complete silence fell over the room for all of two seconds before there was an outpouring of questions and demands that were spoken all at the same time and made it impossible to make out individual voices or words. The cacophony cut straight through the magical dampeners that Harry wore due to the volume and the acoustic nature of the stone room they were standing in. He was forced to slap his hands over his ears to protect his sensitive ears from the noise. Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin didn't fair much better; both men had enhanced hearing that was nearly as sensitive as Harry's due to their canine sides.

It took several minutes and several loud canon blasts of air from Mr. Dumbledore's wand to restore order to the room and get everyone to be silent once more. A single tap on his shoulder from Mr. Holmes let Harry know that it was now safe to lower his hands. Little Lady then let out a loud yowl of complaint from her perch on Harry's shoulder to make her displeasure known to everyone in the room. The indignation in her voice actually drew a couple of chuckles from several of the witches and wizards present.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Dumbledore stated a heartbeat later. "Now that the Weighing of the Wands has been completed, we will allow everyone a chance to ask a handful of questions. I will ask that each of you be respectful of your fellow journalists and wait until you are called on to ask your questions so that our champions and the officials can clearly hear each question and provide their answers."

A burly wizard in the back immediately stood up to ask, "Mr. Potter, why did you not purchase a wand when you started your magical training? After being chosen as a champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, why did you not immediately purchase a wand? Will you be purchasing a wand before you are required to face the first task?"

"I have not received what you would consider magical training, sir; my invitation to Hogwarts was revoked due to my disability," Harry replied succinctly; his Namelessness nothing at all like magic in his mind. "And no, I have no plans to purchase a wand now or ever."

Another woman stood up as all of the other reporters furiously scribbled down Harry's response along with several notes but before she could ask her questions, Mycroft addressed the media, "Before you ask your question, ma'am, please keep in mind that this press conference was called to cover the one hundred, thirty-ninth Tri-Wizard Tournament that is currently being hosted at Hogwarts. Please keep your questions on topic as all personal questions addressed to my ward will be ignored unless they pertain to his participation in the Tournament. I would also ask that you not ignore the other champions; since they deserve to have an equal share of the spotlight as they too are participants in the Tournament."

"I have two questions for Mr. Potter and one question for all three of the other champions," the witch still standing stated. "First, Mr. Potter; why did you enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament if you have not received any training? And second, how do you intend to compete in the various tasks of the Tournament if you do not even own a wand?"

"I did not enter the Tournament of my own free will, ma'am; I am being forced to compete or I risk losing my life due to the nature of the magic involved in selecting the champions. As to your other question, magic is not the only solution available for solving a problem; regardless of how I ended up being selected as a champion, I will give each of the tasks my best effort."

There was a frantic scribbling of quills running across parchment before the same woman asked, "My final question to the other three champions is this; how do you feel about Mr. Potter's unconventional inclusion in the Tournament?"

"When we were first told zat zere would be a fourth champion, I was greatly upset," Miss Delacour stated in a measured tone as the two older boys allowed her to answer first. "I had worked hard to earn ze chance at being selected as ze champion for Beauxbatons. However, once ze situation was fully explained to us, I felt it was far more unfair for Mr. Potter to be forced to compete against three teens zat are three and four years older zen him. Unfortunately, like us, he too is bound to the Goblet of Fire and must compete or risk ze consequences."

"Like Miss Delacour, I was upset when I heard that Mr. Potter was also to be a champion," Mr. Diggory stated next after he and Mr. Krum exchanged a brief look. "Being selected as one of the three champions was to be a chance to make something of a name for myself and bring honor to Hogwarts. Upon hearing Harry Potter's name, I feared that I had lost that chance due to the fact that the name Harry Potter has always been far more noteworthy than Cedric Diggory. It took some time to realize that while I, Delacour, and Krum all asked to be part of this Tournament, Potter had not and that if anyone has the right to complain about him being a part of this Tournament, it is Potter; because he isn't here by choice."

"And you, Mr. Krum?"

"It did not matter to me dat there vas an extra champion. I am here to compete. I look forward to da challenge and I vould vish Mr. Potter luck," Mr. Krum replied in his thick accent. "He is competing against da best our schools had to offer and I for one vill not insult him by holding back. I hope dat he vill do da same."

As soon as the witch sat down, Rita Skeeter sprung to her feet to ask, "Mr. Crouch, you were responsible for organizing the return of the Tri-Wizard Tournament; what does the Ministry have to say about the breach in security that allowed an underage wizard to be entered into the Tournament against his will? What is the Ministry doing to catch the one or ones responsible for forcing Mr. Potter into the Tournament? And does the Ministry plan to increase the security surrounding the tasks of the Tournament to insure that the champions and spectators are safe from those who are looking to sabotage the Tournament? "

"An investigation was launched shortly after Mr. Potter's name was selected by the Goblet of Fire and those handling the case are diligently searching for any clues as to the identity of the person or persons involved. Additionally, there will be Ministry aurors on duty during all three of the tasks to prevent anyone from further disrupting the Tournament."

A wizard with a thick, bushy beard and a shiny bald head stood up and cleared his throat when it appeared like Ms. Skeeter was going to ask yet more questions and the woman huffed and sat down (she was obviously annoyed to not be the only reporter present). The wizard then inquired, "My first two questions are for the Tournament officials; how will the inclusion of a fourth champion affect the coming tasks? And which school will Mr. Potter be representing in the Tournament since he is not currently enrolled at Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang?"

"Mr. Potter's selection as a champion did not really have any affect on the individual tasks and arrangements were easily made to procure additional props as needed," Mr. Bagman stated glibly as he smiled at the wizard.

"Mr. Potter will represent the British Government and the Crown for the duration of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and as such, he can be considered as Her Majesty's champion," Mycroft added when it became clear that none of the officials wanted to actually answer the reporter's second question.

There was another flurry of writing before the bald man continued, "My final two questions are for Mr. Potter… earlier, you mentioned a disability; could you please tell us what that disability is and how it will affect your performance in the Tournament?"

Harry hesitated briefly, casting a questioning glance at his guardian (who hummed a vague response to indicate that it was Harry's choice whether or not to answer the questions). It only took him a split second to determine that it would be pointless to try and hide his blindness since it was clearly obvious (the blindfold was a dead giveaway) before he answered with, "I am blind. As for how it will affect my performance, that is difficult to say as we have not yet been told exactly what each task will entail. I can say, that I have had ten years to learn how to cope without my sight and so long as the task doesn't require me to tell you exactly what color an object is, then I think I will be fine."

There was a smattering of chuckles in response to Harry's attempt at levity and several of the photographers in the room snapped a few pictures as Harry smiled for the first time since entering the room. A man with wild white hair then stood up to ask a single question, "My question is for the gentleman standing protectively behind Mr. Potter; who exactly are you sir and what is your relationship to Mr. Potter?"

"My name is Mycroft Holmes and I am Her Majesty's Voice; which essentially makes me the personification of the British Government as far as the wizarding society is concerned since I speak on the Queen's behalf in all matters of state that deal with the wizarding society. As for my relationship to Mr. Potter; he was named a ward of the Crown five years ago and as such, I assumed guardianship over Mr. Potter so that I could insure that Mr. Potter was being properly cared for and that he was properly protected from any and all threats due to his status as a person of interest to the Crown and Her Majesty in particular."

The questioning would continue for another twenty minutes, with most of the questions being directed towards the officials and the other champions. On the heels of the final question, there was a small photograph session where each of the champions were photographed alone, together as a group, paired with prospective school heads (Mycroft in Harry's case), and with all of the officials and champions together. Harry was relieved when it was over only to be annoyed when he learned that he would be required to eat supper in the Great Hall that evening (and each evening for the next week) in order to be visible while the reporters remained in the castle; all of them invited to stay at the castle so that they could attend the first task in a week's time.

"Chin up, Mr. Potter; the night is almost over," Mycroft murmured lowly as he leaned close to Harry's ear so that he wouldn't be overheard. "I am quite proud of the way you handled the afternoon and I am confident that you will be able to pull off a mere dinner engagement with equal aplomb."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," Harry replied with a pleased blush over the somewhat rare words of praise from his guardian.

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><p><strong>Translations:<strong> French to English

L'Étoile Enchantée – The Enchanted Star  
>Oui – yes<p>

**Translations:** German to English

Mystic Zeiten – Mystic Times

**Notes:**

* Ollivander's dialogue in this chapter was based upon the original text in the Goblet of Fire from chapter Eighteen, The Weighing of the Wands. The order of testing is, of course, changed and the magical effects drawn from the wands changed – plus Harry's wand testing and wand effects were removed completely since he doesn't have a wand in this story. Those of you who have read my HP x Natsume Yujincho crossover entitled Haunted may have recognized the short scene used as I used a near identical scene for that story. (Yes, I was being lazy but writing something original for that scene is rather difficult and I already used up all of my creativity in other places and in other stories).

* * *

><p><strong>Edited 1125/14:** _Updated chapter to fix the name of the French newspaper; a big thanks to Plew A.E for providing the correction._


	17. First Task

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

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><p><span>Chapter Sixteen: First Task<span>

_Saturday, November 26, 1994 7:50 A.M.  
>Hogwarts Castle, Scotland<em>

John ignored the dull ache in his shoulder as he slipped out of bed and got dressed; the cold always bothered his old injury and not even magic could entirely eliminate the chill in such a large, drafty castle during the winter months. He would have preferred to stay in bed for another hour or two this morning but today was the day of the Tournament's first task and nothing would stop him from being there to offer Harry his support. The fourteen year old had been holding up admirably for the past month but even John could see how much of a strain the young man was under.

Harry had been pulled out from his comfort zone with very little warning, had his entire schedule upturned, and had been thrown into a completely unfamiliar environment where he was surrounded by pushy strangers. On top of that, he was being forced to compete in a Tournament that was more famous for its death toll than for its past winners against three competitors that were three and four years older than him with a near complete formal magical education under their belts. Frankly, John was amazed that Harry hadn't snapped already under the pressure.

Out in the sitting room, John found Sherlock brooding off to one side of the room in silence while Harry sat curled up in a pile of blankets on the couch with Little Lady cradled in his lap. To John, it didn't look like either of the brunettes had gotten any sleep the night before. Heading over to the self-refilling tea service that had been provided for them by their assigned castle elf, John poured out two cups of tea and prepared one for Harry and one for himself with practiced ease. He then carried Harry's over to him and passed it to the teen who gave him a wane smile in return.

John had just settled down in a chair when Remus and Sirius stumbled into the room one right after the other; neither wizard could be accused of being morning people – something John had noted not long after they'd moved into the suite of guest rooms within the castle. It was also something that Harry had been quick to start teasing the two men about and the fact that the teen didn't immediately start razzing them about their zombie-like state spoke volumes about the boy's current state of mind.

"Why don't you go take a hot shower and get dressed for the day, Harry?" John gently prodded in order to try and pull the teen out of his current funk. "I'll ask Mimzy to bring you something light for breakfast when you are done."

"Alright, Dr. Watson," Harry murmured as he reluctantly emerged from the cocoon of blankets he'd been swathed in.

John watched the teen slink out of the room with Little Lady and withheld the sigh he wished to expel; knowing that the teen would hear him if he gave voice to his disquiet. Not that he was really fooling anyone; all of them had been growing more worried as the date of the first task had drawn closer and the waiting was nearly over. The adults had done their level best to present a calm façade of silent strength though, least their open concern lead Harry to doubt himself.

"Did Mycroft give either of you any indication as to what time he will be arriving?" John inquired as he turned his attention from his young charge to the two wizards that were just barely starting to show signs of waking up.

Sirius grunted out something unintelligible while Remus stifled a yawn before he replied, "He planned to be here no later than nine unless an emergency cropped up; in which case, he said he would be here in time to watch the task come hell or high water. Albus gave him a portkey to bring him through the wards in the event that he was running late. He also has a portkey that will take him back to his office if something comes up during the task but I get the feeling that he has no plans to use it unless he's had a chance to watch Harry's performance from start to finish."

"Mycroft has diligently appeared at all of the important events in Harry's life over the past five years; recitals, holidays, special occasions, press conferences… you name it and he has been there," Sherlock pointed out as he stopped brooding for a moment to join the conversation. "Despite all of his faults, Mycroft takes his obligations seriously and he has made it his duty to be there to show his support for Harry's endeavors. Harry is… important to him."

"Mycroft reminds me a lot of my late grandfather," Sirius mused as he stretched out his arms and back before he shuffled across the room to make himself a cup of tea. "He's stern, imposing, and demanding but he is not cruel."

"My brother can be very cruel when the mood strikes him."

"Yes, my grandfather was the same way; only ever cruel to those who had crossed him or the family. My grandfather's enemies cursed him till their last breaths; both literally and figuratively. It was a damn shame when he died three years ago; his death left a huge power vacuum in the wizarding world and the vultures were quick to snap up every shred of power they could. I'm at least thankful that I had the chance to say goodbye to him and mend the breach that had formed in our relationship when I ran away from home just before my sixth year."

Sherlock hummed but didn't comment further as he sank back into his brooding. John suspected he'd grown tired of talking about Mycroft. That or he was annoyed by the lack of progress he'd made in solving several of the crimes that had taken place within the castle. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Sherlock.

John abandoned any attempt to puzzle Sherlock out for the moment as he picked up sounds of Harry moving around in his room; a clear indication that he'd finished with his shower. The doctor called on Mimzy at that point and asked her if she could bring them a light breakfast. The elf enthusiastically agreed and quickly disappeared to prepare their food. She would return less than ten minutes later with a laden tray piled high with toast, fresh fruit, a large bowl of yogurt, a pitcher of pumpkin juice, a bottle of milk, a plate of sausages, a small saucer with flaked tuna (for Little Lady), and a stack of plates.

Harry exited the little used room he'd been assigned at the start of the month just two minutes later dressed in heavy denim pants, a long sleeve t-shirt under a thick woolen jumper, and a sturdy pair of boots. In his arms, he carried a still damp Little Lady wrapped up in a thick towel. John couldn't help the small snort that escaped at the sight of the kneazle; the crazy cat was unlike any other feline he'd ever met – her love of water just one of many examples of her un-cat-like behavior.

"You aren't planning on wearing that this afternoon are you?" Sherlock inquired with a slight frown.

"No, I set out the black wool tuxedo to wear for the task along with one of my white shirts; I just didn't want to spill anything on them while I was eating," Harry replied as he quickly reclaimed his pile of blankets and burrowed into them before he proceeded to briskly dry Little Lady using the towel; the small feline purring like a motor boat at full throttle under the teen's ministrations.

"Good. Are you going to wear the robes Dumbledore had delivered earlier this week?"

"No, I've never worn robes before and I don't want to trip over them. They're also the wrong color; they don't have any of the Queen's colors while the robes for the other champions have their school colors. I intend to wear Her Majesty's colors, the blue and gold of her personal flag, around my left arm and a royal red tie and blindfold so that I can properly represent her. Unless Mr. Holmes has picked up a proper sash for me to wear, in which case I will wear that."

"You do know that the robes provided by Albus were charmed to protect the wearer, correct?" Remus pointedly asked as he managed to locate the only platter of sausage that Mimzy had brought.

"If that is the case, he should have consulted Mr. Holmes on an appropriate robe for me to wear. He didn't even bother to get my measurements, which means there is a chance that the robes will be ill-fitting; making them even more dangerous for me to wear."

"Hagley has made an excellent point," Sherlock airily pointed out as he stole several sausages from Remus's platter.

"Dr. Watson…?"

"What did you need, Harry?"

"Can you please do something about Mr. Holmes?"

"And what exactly is it you expect me to do?"

"I don't know; he needs a time out or something. I'd suggest sending him to a nursing home due to his growing senility but I doubt they'd be willing to keep him a full hour let alone even consider keeping him over night."

"And just what has my brother done this time, Mr. Potter?" Mycroft inquired as he entered the room at that precise moment.

"He's been calling me names again, Mr. Holmes; he called me Hagley. I mean really, Hagley!" Harry complained with a shudder and grimace of distaste.

"You really scraped the bottom of the barrel on that one, Sherlock," Mycroft dryly noted; the slight upwards tilt of the corners of his mouth betraying his amusement.

"I've had other things on my mind and couldn't be bothered to find something more appropriate. It was worth it though; the look on his face was rather entertaining."

"Do make certain you take several pictures when you repay him for that remark and for the name, Mr. Potter; I will want copies."

"Yes, sir."

John smothered a laugh at the look of indignation on Sherlock's face in response to Mycroft's instructions. It was always amusing when Harry joined forces with one of the brothers to teasingly irritate the other; though more and more he was taking to siding with Mycroft over Sherlock. John was certain that was a direct result of the name war that Sherlock had been carrying on for the last five years.

"Now that we've taken care of that, are you fully prepared for this afternoon?"

"Mostly, sir."

"Explain," Mycroft ordered as he took a seat and leveled his gaze on his now squirming ward.

"I don't know exactly what the task is going to be; we're supposed to go into the task blind, figuratively speaking, and face it with nothing but a wand. I was thinking about taking either an instrument or my fencing sword since I don't have a wand but I'm not certain if they will allow me to do that since neither item is a wand. If they don't, I'll have to do my best without but I'd prefer the extra control that comes with proper music (should I need to use the Namelessness) or a proper sword in case I need to fight."

"Which instrument are you considering to use for the task?"

"I was thinking my practice violin because it is the most versatile and allows me to play and speak at the same time, if I need to at any point during the task, but…"

"Spit it out," Sherlock instructed when Harry drifted off mid-sentence.

"I'd really like to take the Stradivarius (if I don't use the rapier that I use for my fencing lessons) because the quality of sound it produces is far superior and my practice violin isn't really meant to be used in a performance and technically, you could say that I will be performing this afternoon. I just didn't really know if I'd be allowed to take the Stradivarius because it could get damaged."

"Take the Stradivarius in case you need it; you gave your word that you would give each task your best effort and that means using the most appropriate tool you have on hand," Mycroft instructed without even a split second's hesitation.

John had a clear view of Sherlock's wince in response to his brother giving Harry permission to take the valuable instrument into a potentially dangerous situation but the man didn't make any comments. The younger Holmes brother knew better than to undermine Mycroft's authority when it would potentially have a negative affect on Harry. And Harry was currently under enough stress without adding more over a mere instrument (albeit an extremely valuable antique instrument but an instrument none-the-less).

The rest of the morning would be spent distracting Harry from the coming task in order to help him relax so that he wouldn't be overly tense when it was time for him to join the rest of the champions. John wasn't quite sure how successful they were in keeping Harry's mind off things but at least the boy had smiled and joked with everyone; both activities something that he'd not done much of over the past week.

When he was finally sent to get dressed for the task, John noted that he'd gone with a slight bounce in his step rather than dragging his heels as he might have if he'd been drowning in self-doubt and fear. He reappeared just a few minutes later dressed in the black tux he'd chosen with the colored accents he'd mentioned wearing; royal red blindfold and tie with one medium blue and one yellow-gold blindfold secured to his upper left arm to signify his status as Her Majesty's champion in the Tournament. He also had his practice rapier sheathed on his left hip with the fencing tip removed.

Mycroft spent a moment inspecting Harry before he pulled out a red sash trimmed in a short gold fringe with a center line of the Queen's blue bracketed by a pair of gold lines running down the center of it with a Tudor Rose fixed at the point where the two ends were secured together. He expertly hung the sash from Harry's left shoulder and smoothed it into place before he untied the two blindfolds from Harry's left arm and re-secured them with a more appropriate knot.

"Now you look like a proper champion," Mycroft stated as he briefly rested his hand on Harry's head. "Remember your lessons and do your Queen and country proud out there. I will not leave until I see you perform but I might have to leave immediately after your performance if an emergency crops up; so, I might not be there at the end of the task."

"I understand, Mr. Holmes."

"Good. Mr. Black, if you will escort Mr. Potter out to join the other champions."

Harry quickly grabbed the case holding the Stradivarius and lifted Little Lady up onto his shoulder before he followed Sirius out the door; the teen holding himself straight and tall as befitted a proper champion. John smiled sadly; the boy was growing up all too quickly; though, truth be told, the kid had always been far too mature for his age.

"Come, gentlemen, I intend to secure decent seats in the stadium's stands so that I will have a clear view of my ward's performance," Mycroft ordered as he grabbed his umbrella and headed towards the door. "Mr. Lupin, do not forget to bring the camera."

John was quick to grab his coat and scarf as he followed the older Holmes out through the door with Sherlock and Remus both right on their heels. It was at that point that John realized that Anthea was no where in sight and he experienced a brief moment of shock – Mycroft never went anywhere without his assistant within easy reach. He then realized that he'd probably left the woman in London so that she could handle any minor fires that cropped up while he was out of contact for the day.

The matter was put out of his mind two seconds later as they moved outside and joined the large throng of people that were heading out onto the castle grounds. In no time at all, their small group was sitting down in the front row of the section that had been reserved for the friends and family of the champions. John ended up sitting between the two Holmes brothers just in front of a small French family that could only be Miss Delacour's parents and sister (the mother and young girl both bore a strong resemblance to the French champion).

Remus and another two of the wizards working for Mycroft were seated on the top bench in the same area where they could watch both the field and those in the stands. Just a few benches back and to the left of the Delacours, sat an older couple that was obviously young Diggory's parents. Krum's family (comprised of a stately woman in her mid-forties and a young boy that was about the same age as Harry) would arrive just a few minutes later. There was also a pretty young Asian girl wearing a blue trimmed Hogwarts' uniform sitting with her parents and John was pretty certain that she was Diggory's girlfriend as he vaguely recalled seeing her in the young man's presence a time or two during supper.

In the next section over, the Tournament officials and judges were seated alongside of the Ministry officials from all three governments that were represented by the champions. On the opposite side of the official's section, was the section of seats that had been set aside for the various reporters and photographers that had been invited to watch the task. The rest of the spectators (made up of the staff and students from all three schools and their families) would be spread throughout the rest of the stadium. Most of the spectators were still trying to find seats as they continued to pour into the stadium stands.

The arena floor of the large stadium that had been built at the edge of the Forbidden Forest was mostly open on the side closet to the forest while the opposite end was filled with a scattering of large boulders. There were also several boulders that had been placed around the very edges of the floor. To John, it looked like the boulders were designed to provide cover from whatever it was the champions would be facing.

John felt his stomach twist in anxiety as he worried over the as yet unidentified test that Harry would be forced to face very soon.

At exactly two o'clock, Ludo Bagman approached the announcer's podium that had been set up in the center of the stands (in the section right next to the family seating where the officials were seated). The man cast a spell on himself (to enhance his voice) before he addressed the audience and opened the task, "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first task of the one hundred, thirty-ninth Tri-Wizard Tournament. In just a few moments, our four champions will face off against an opponent with nothing but their wands and their wit as they seek to capture the prize that their opponent is standing guard over."

"This task is designed to test our champion's mettle in the face of the unknown; the champions were not given any details as to what the task entailed until just moments ago when they selected which opponent they would be facing individually. They will be graded on their ingenuity, the strategy they use to complete the task, their spell casting, the length of time it takes for them to complete the task, and for actually securing their individual treasures. Marks will be taken off their score for causing permanent damage to their opponent, for the type and number of injuries they receive during the course of the task, and for each clearly failed attempt to capture their prize."

"If you turn your attention to the right hand side of the arena, you will find the handlers wheeling in the first opponent that one of our champions will be facing; the Hungarian Horntail. The Horntail you see before you is a ten year old, thirty-nine foot long clutching female with her nest containing five cement colored eggs. Horntail dragons are well known for their vicious tempers, swift reflexes, and the deadly spikes found growing out of their tail tips. Native to Hungary where they live deep within the limestone caves of Bükk National Park and their preferred diet consists of goats, sheep, and humans."

"Facing the Horntail will be eighteen year old Viktor Krum; Durmstrang's champion," Bagman continued while the audience fell silent as the dangerous dragon was wheeled into the stadium by a dozen dragon handlers. Her black scales glittered in the afternoon light and her yellow eyes snaked across the stands as she let out a yowling screech of defiance. "Mr. Krum is a professional seeker for the Bulgarian National Team and recently competed in the four hundred, twenty-second World Quidditch Cup this past summer."

"Mr. Krum's task will be to successfully steal the golden egg stashed within the Horntail's nest. Now, everyone please put your hands together for the Durmstrang champion; Viktor Krum!"

The crowd went wild with anticipation as a loud gong sounded to call forth the first champion from the tent outside of the stadium and the teen walked confidently out into the boulders. John felt ill and all of the blood drained from his face as he realized that Harry would be facing a dragon as well. He would be facing a dragon with no preparation and at a huge disadvantage due to his blindness, his lack of formal magical training, and no wand. Harry would be facing _a real, live fire breathing __**mother **__dragon_ armed with nothing but a flimsy violin or sword. And he was supposed to _steal from __**her nest**_.

"I am going to kill Dumbledore for keeping the details of the first task from me," Mycroft hissed out in an ice cold voice filled with pure venom and John couldn't help but flinch in response to the man's anger. "I will kill him slowly and painfully if my ward receives so much as a singed hair from this task."

"Not if I catch him first," Sherlock seethed from John's other side.

John resigned himself to being third in line to make Dumbledore to pay for his secrets and blocked out Bagman's words as he watched the wizard down on the stadium floor turned his wand on the dragon. The next twenty-six minutes would be filled with much anxiety, admiration, and admonition as Krum blinded the Horntail with a spell that damaged her eyes (causing her to crush two of her own eggs), was caught across the chest by her spiked tail, had the edges of his robes set on fire, and barely managed to retrieve his egg without being stomped on.

While Krum was treated by the on-site healer, the dragon handlers rushed in to subdue the injured and furious dragon so that it could be removed to set up the next champion's trial. At the same time, a heated argument was taking place in the judges' box as the six judges present argued over Krum's score. Originally, there was only going to be five judges (the three school heads plus two Ministry officials) but Mycroft had inserted one of his wizarding employees to act as a sixth judge and a representative for Harry within the panel; one of the handful of concessions Mycroft had wrangled out of the wizards when he agreed to allow Harry to participate.

Once the judges had reached an agreement and Krum's injuries had been tended, Krum returned to the empty stadium to hear his scores; his gold egg tucked under one arm. The eighteen year old was awarded a total of ninety six points out of one hundred fifty-five total possible points (thirty-five out of fifty for ingenuity, forty-two out of fifty for strategy, thirty-five out of forty for spells, nine out of ten for time, and five for retrieving his egg). He'd also been penalized a full thirty points for the loss of the two eggs and for his injuries (three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a minor burn on his leg).

"The next dragon being brought out is a five year old Hebridean Black on loan to us from the Hebridean Reserve up in the Hebrides Islands owned and run by the MacFusty Clan where these native dragons make their homes in a small chain of active volcanoes and dine on local deer and bovine. She is fully grown at thirty feet and like the Hungarian Horntail her breed is highly aggressive and well known for their razor sharp claws which have been documented to reach lengths in excess of fifteen inches. The Hebridean mother you see before you has a clutch of seven eggs that are a rich purple marbled with black and gold veins."

"Facing the Hebridean will be the Hogwarts' champion; Cedric Diggory," Bagman stated as the new dragon was settled into place; twin curls of smoke rising from her nostrils as she hissed at the crowd in irritation. "Mr. Diggory is a seventeen year old sixth year student from Hufflepuff House and the current seeker for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team with high hopes of becoming a professional seeker once he has finished his seventh year. Let us show our support for our next champion as he faces his dragon to capture his prize."

It would take Diggory a full thirty-two minutes to collect his egg from his dragon. The seventeen year old had creatively used transfiguration to transform several of the boulders in the arena into animals to distract the dragon from his presence. He would fail twice to capture his egg during that time before he finally slipped in to snag the egg out of the nest. Diggory had earned a nasty trio of gashes across his lower back courtesy of the angry mother's razor sharp talons in retaliation before he could escape from her nest with the golden egg.

Diggory's final score was one hundred thirteen points (forty out of fifty for ingenuity, forty-two out of fifty for strategy, thirty-eight out of forty for spells, eight out of ten for time, and five for retrieving his egg). He'd also been penalized twenty points for his injured back and his two failures (the failures each costing him five points).

John wiped the sweat from his brow and chewed on several peppermint Altoids in the hopes of settling his stomach as he tried not to think about Harry's chances of making it through his performance unscathed. Beside him, Sherlock was sitting stiffly with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched; tension just oozing from his friend's every pore. On the other side of him, Mycroft was not fairing much better, even if it wasn't readily apparent; the older man sat ramrod straight with a white knuckled grip on his umbrella handle and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"We are now halfway finished with the first task, ladies and gentlemen; only two more champions remain waiting for their chance to face their chosen dragon," Bagman stated grandly as the third dragon was maneuvered into the arena; her scales a pale creamy pinkish-tan that glittered with an iridescent sheen while her pupil-less eyes glittered with malicious intelligence. "Our third dragon comes to us all the way from the hidden valleys of the New Zealand Dragon Reserve. She is an Antipodean Opaleye; one of the rarest dragon breeds in existence and still considered a juvenile at the tender age of three."

"The Opaleye measures a mere twenty-six feet from nose to tail tip and will reach up to forty feet in length by the time she reaches her fifth year. She also has the smallest clutch of eggs; her nest containing just three eggs of the palest gray. The Antipodean Opaleye is known as one of the calmest dragon breeds with the weakest and coldest flames out of all dragons; the flames themselves appearing as a vivid red and reaching temperatures no higher than ninety degrees Celsius. Opaleyes prefer a diet of sheep and are the only known dragons capable of turning themselves invisible."

"Facing the Opaleye is our youngest champion at a tender fourteen years of age and Britain's own Boy-Who-Lived; Harry Potter who is representing the Queen of England. Not only is Mr. Potter young and untrained, he is coming into this task at a huge disadvantage and not just because he is blind. Mr. Potter is currently not enrolled in any magical school and has received no formal magical training; he does not even own a wand, folks. In fact, Mr. Potter's chosen weapon for this task was a paltry musical instrument. I don't know about the rest of you watching today but I, for one, am greatly curious to see how our blind champion will fair against a dragon using nothing but a simple tune."

"Bagman will be the next one to feel my wrath," Mycroft muttered as the man shot a scowl in Bagman's direction for the verbal slight against Harry.

"I'll leave you Dumbledore if you'll let me deal with Bagman; he insulted Harry's musical capabilities and as Harry's primary music tutor I take great offense to that slight," Sherlock countered as he too scowled at the announcer.

Completely unaware of the growing threat to his health, Bagman continued his commentary, "Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Harry Potter! And my word, folks; Mr. Potter has forgone wearing the protective robes that were commissioned for all of the champions! What is the young man thinking?"

John clenched his hands as he watched Harry walk out onto the arena floor with his violin and bow held in his left hand (looking oh, so small down there all alone without even Little Lady beside him for once). Dressed as he was in a tuxedo, the teen looked far more ready to perform a concerto at the Royal Albert Hall in London rather than face a fire breathing dragon outside of a medieval castle in the Highlands of Scotland.

"And you gave him permission to take his Stradivarius out there," Sherlock sighed mournfully.

"We have several more in storage; I'd rather lose a priceless antique than to have sent him down to face that beast with an inferior instrument," Mycroft retorted without any heat. "Now kindly shut up, Sherlock; I wish to watch my ward perform."

And perform he did.

Taking up a perch on top of one of the boulders (in clear view of both the audience and the dragon) Harry bowed once to the crowd before he raised his right hand up to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle that echoed through the entire stadium. The Opaleye snorted and shook its head in response to the shrill sound; its attention now firmly focused on the rather small teen perched upon the boulder. Harry, in the mean time, seemingly ignored the dragon as he shifted the bow into his right hand and brought his violin up to his shoulder.

At the same time, a collective gasp sounded from the crowd when they caught sight of a small blue and white streak as Little Lady dashed into the arena to answer the call of her owner. The cat leapt from boulder to boulder as she made straight for her boy and more than one female in the crowd cooed in adoration as the kneazle landed gracefully beside Harry and wound in and out of his legs with a loud yowl to announce her presence. The dramatic entrance brought a smile to John's lips even as he felt a sharp spike of worry for the safety of the small feline that was near equal to the worry he felt for Harry.

Everyone's attention was then drawn back to Harry as the teen slid the bow across the strings of his violin to draw out a long, mournful note that hung on the air for nearly a full minute before it faded and John suspected that Mr. Black had cast some sort of amplification charm on the teen so that the audience would hear the violin's music. The teen then began playing a slow soothing melody that rose and fell languidly like the deep swells of the ocean on a calm day. After the first two minutes, Harry drew out a final note and let the sound fade away completely; leaving behind an expectant hush as the crowd held its collective breath in anticipation of what Harry would do next.

Harry's voice then cut through the silence clear as a bell as he ordered, "Sneak attack, Little Lady; fetch the golden egg from the dragon's nest."

The small kneazle let out a yowl of acceptance before she dove from the boulder to roll around in the loose dirt that covered the stadium floor; coating her two-toned fur with a layer of dust and dirt that obscured her natural colors. Once she was camouflaged, the feline disappeared into the shadows (much to the audience's disappointment). Harry, in the mean time, began playing once more; the teen distracting both the audience and the dragon from the vanishing kneazle with the graceful melody of Johann Pachelbel's _Canon in D Major_.

John found himself unable to enjoy the piece as much as he usually would; his eyes firmly fixed upon the Opaleye as the dragon stretched its head out towards the boulder where Harry was standing – its ears flicking forwards and back as she assessed the level of threat that Harry and his music represented to her nest. He thought his heart might stop when the mother dragon gave voice to a low growl and breathed out a small jet of flame that died out only a few short yards from the boulder that Harry was standing on. Beside him, Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath and jerked forward in his seat.

"The nest, John!" Sherlock hissed manically as he latched onto John's arm. "Look in the nest!"

As John tore his eyes from the slightly agitated dragon, he immediately saw what had Sherlock all excited; directly beneath the dragon's belly, slinking through the shadows cast by the trio of dragon eggs, was a dust covered and barely noticeable Little Lady. John's breath hitched as the mother dragon suddenly shifted her massive form so that she was hunkered down over top of her nest of eggs. The Opaleye's tail slammed down into the arena floor a heartbeat later and John jerked his eyes away from the now hidden nest to find that Harry had taken several steps closer to the dragon; the teen obviously doing his best to keep the dragons attention on him least she take note of the cat currently trespassing in her nest.

Harry drew out the final notes of the song at the same time before he immediately launched into _the Blue Danube_ – a rather popular waltz by Johann Strauss II. The playful and near taunting melody coupled with Harry's more extravagant movements soon had the dragon back up on all four of her feet as she roared out a challenge before aiming yet another jet of flames at Harry. Once again, the flames died out just a few short yards away from Harry's position and John began to suspect that Harry was using the Namelessness to subtly counter the flames in such a way that only those who knew about the teen's abilities would pick up on what he was doing.

The crowd let loose a great cheer at the same time and John jerked his eyes back to the dragon's nest where Sherlock had last spotted Little Lady in time to see the golden egg being pushed free of the nest by the dirt covered kneazle. The sound of the golden egg bouncing out of the nest made John wince and hold his breath as the noise coming from so close to her nest immediately captured the attention of the mother dragon. John felt his heart lurch to a stop as Harry let out two sharp whistles and leapt to a closer rock to recapture the dragon's attention as he switched songs mid-note and began playing Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's _Flight of the Bumblebee_.

The Opaleye retaliated against the newly perceived threat by letting out an earsplitting shriek as she lunged forward to snap at Harry with her mouth. The teen barely escaped by dropping backwards off the large boulder at the very last second and stopped playing while he retreated further out of range in order to allow the dragon think she'd chased him off. John shuddered as his heart restarted itself once it became clear that Harry was unharmed, if not completely out of danger yet as the dragon clawed at the rocks in search of the pest that had annoyed her.

While Harry played a deadly game of hide and seek with the dragon, Little Lady began using her head to roll the golden egg away from the nest while the dragon was preoccupied. A cry of alarm went up from the entire audience when the Opaleye let out a hissing growl of annoyance and loosed another burst of flames that swept over and through the boulder littered section of the stadium where Harry had been hiding. A wave of worried murmuring began to fill the air once the flames died down and no trace of Harry or Little Lady could be found within the stadium arena.

The knot of dread in John's stomach solidified and he thought he might throw up as the fear that Harry and the kneazle had been caught in that last blast began crowding into his heart. He was half rising to his feet, the doctor and the soldier in him desperately urging him to find his charge, when a shrill whistle cut through the noise from the crowd and drew the audience's attention to the champion's entrance on the far left side of the arena floor.

Relief coursed through John and he dropped heavily back into his seat as his eyes landed on an unharmed Harry standing directly beside the entrance with his violin in his left hand, the golden egg tucked under his right arm, and a filthy Little Lady smugly seated on his left shoulder. The crowd roared in approval and surged to their feet as Harry lifted the captured egg into the air above his head before he ducked out of the arena just seconds before a fourth and final blast of dragon flames were fired in his general direction by the annoyed mother dragon.

"Did you see that, ladies and gentlemen!? Have you ever seen such a brazen display? I am practically speechless with awe over the sheer audacity of the death-defying performance that our youngest champion just pulled off in conjunction with his kneazle familiar; all without using a single spell, folks!"

"He'd be far better if he actually was rendered permanently speechless, if you ask me," Sherlock muttered halfheartedly under his breath. "Come on, John; let's go collect our heart-attack inducing ward and his egg-stealing partner in crime."

"The task isn't over yet," John reminded Sherlock in return as he dropped his face into his hands and sought to bring his heart rate back down into a more acceptable range.

Harry would receive the highest score for the task; one hundred nineteen points (forty-five out of fifty for ingenuity, thirty-nine out of fifty for strategy, twenty out of forty for spells, ten out of ten for time – for taking only fifteen minutes to retrieve his egg, and five for retrieving his egg). He would be the only champion not penalized for damage, injuries, or failed attempts. His score would have been even lower if not for the automatic handicap that the judges had allowed him for his lack of magical training (hence why he'd received twenty points for spells instead of a zero).

Miss Delacour would then go on to earn a score of one hundred fourteen points after facing a Chinese Fireball (thirty-five out of fifty for ingenuity, forty out of fifty for strategy, thirty out of forty for spells, nine out of ten for time, and five for retrieving his egg). She had only been penalized five points for receiving a second degree burn when her robes had caught fire after she'd grabbed her egg from the dragon she'd put to sleep with a spell.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

* Dragons – yes, I switched up the types of dragons used, the order of which dragon went first, and what dragon each champion faced. That was intentional as I didn't want to follow the norm and use the same boring old tasks. I had originally tried to think of something different for them to face for the first task but it was surprisingly difficult to come up with something suitably dangerous for them to face that would offer a challenge to all four champions.

* Scoring – again, yes, I changed the scoring methods used by the judges. I wanted a more accurate and fair method of scoring the tasks to be in place. If it helps, you can imagine that Mycroft interfered in that part of the Tournament after learning how they were originally going to score the tasks back when the wizarding delegation first turned up to drag Harry off to the Tournament. =)

* 90 C = 194 F

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> _Tada! And that's the first task over and done with! I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter and a different view of the task (since most fics I've read usually write the scene from Harry's POV). The next chapter will have lots of stuff going on including a couple of confrontations, some vitriol from Snape, and Harry's first encounter with Luna. _

_On a side note, the previous chapter was updated to fix a mistake I made in my French (changing "Le Charmant _É_toile" to _"L'Étoile Enchantée"_): a big thanks to Plew A.E for pointing out my mistake and providing the correction._**  
><strong>

_The next chapter will be up in roughly four days! ~ Jenn_


	18. Dinnertime Drama

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Seventeen: Dinnertime Drama<span>

_Saturday, November 26, 1994 4:25 P.M.  
>Hogwarts Castle, Scotland<em>

Harry wearily leaned up against Dr. Watson as they made their way back to the castle. He was completely and utterly exhausted and all he really wanted was to curl up beneath a mountain of blankets and sleep for a week or two. Sadly, he was required to make an appearance in the Great Hall in approximately fifty minutes for the extravagant feast that had been arranged to commemorate the completion of the first task. He'd have just enough time to put away his things, take a quick shower, and change into a clean suit before he needed to be in the Great Hall.

Part of him was still numb from the task; he still couldn't believe that he'd faced a dragon and survived.

He'd nearly thrown up when he'd learned he was to face a dragon. He was grateful beyond words that he'd faced both the smallest and calmest of the four dragons; he didn't think he could have fooled the Hebridean Black or the Hungarian Horntail with the Namelessness. He'd barely managed to fool the Opaleye and keep her from noticing Little Lady raiding her nest as it was. The fact that he'd needed to hide his ability to use the Namelessness from the audience out of fear that one or more of the adult magicals present would attempt to bind his fractured core (much like Dumbledore had five years earlier) hadn't exactly helped either.

At least that part of the Tournament was over. He only hoped the second and third tasks would be marginally easier since he didn't want to think about his chances of making it through the Tournament unscathed if the tasks grew progressively more difficult. Though, how they would top an angry mother dragon was rather difficult to imagine.

"Here, kiddo, climb on my back and I'll give you a lift back to our rooms," Mr. Black offered as he crouched down in front of Harry with his back to the teen. "You look like you're about to fall flat on your face."

Harry hesitated for a moment (the indignity of being carried briefly holding him back) before he sighed and climbed onto the wizard's back. Little Lady complained about his new position for a moment before she settled down (she wasn't all that fond of Mr. Black because he smelled strongly of dog due to his animagus form). As their group began making better time, Harry closed his eyes and let his body relax as he tried to ignore the slight burn he could feel as a result of pushing the Namelessness to its limits during the task; it could barely paint him an image of what was five feet in front of him at the moment.

He would probably be better off withdrawing the Namelessness completely but after five straight years of replying upon it to see his surroundings on a near constant basis he had a difficult time cloaking himself in permanent darkness.

By the time they entered the castle, Harry was nearly asleep; his awareness of his surroundings fading in and out. They had just reached the floor their suite of rooms was located on when Harry was jolted wide awake the moment his ears picked up the faint sound of crying. Lifting his head up from where it had been resting on his godfather's shoulder, Harry twisted around and canted his head back and forth as he tried to locate the source of the distressed sound.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Mr. Black inquired as he stumbled to a stop and leaned forward slightly so as not to drop the now squirming Harry off of his back.

"I can hear someone crying," Harry replied as he shifted around a little bit until he heard the sound grow just a hair louder. "I think it's coming from somewhere to the left; is there a hallway in the direction?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered as he moved away from the group in an effort to hear what Harry could.

"You can spare ten minutes to investigate the source," Mycroft declared after glancing at his watch. "Any longer and you will be late to the feast that Hogwarts is providing on behalf of the champions tonight."

"I'll make certain they don't lose track of time," Mr. Lupin offered as Mr. Black split away from the group with Harry on his back to follow after the younger Holmes brother, who had gone exploring down the hallway Harry indicated the sound was coming from.

"Very well," Mycroft intoned before he continued on towards the suite of guest rooms where Harry and the others were staying; Dr. Watson going with the older man and his other two employees.

"Which way now, kiddo?" Sirius asked once they were in the hall.

"Forward, on the right… about twelve feet ahead," Harry replied as he concentrated on the soft sobs and hiccups he could still hear.

"Another hallway… and I can finally hear it too," Mr. Lupin murmured from just behind Harry.

"It's coming from the very end of the hallway but it sounds muffled still."

"The only thing at the end of the hallway is an old broom closet," Sherlock stated as he caught up with the trio – the man having missed the right hand turnoff.

Harry tensed as Mr. Black walked him up to the closet and his Namelessness was finally close enough to slip beneath the door to see who was on the other side. He let out a soft grunt when he was painted the image of a young girl he guessed to be about his age huddled up in the corner; her hair a mess, clothes dirty and torn, shoes missing, and her hands gripping several broken quills and ruined parchment. His anger was then stirred when he realized that the door was locked from the outside; someone had locked the girl inside of the closet.

"I need to get her out," Harry growled as he started to drop off of Mr. Black's back. "Someone locked her inside…"

"Stay there, I will unlock the door and get her out," Mr. Lupin ordered as he drew his wand to release the locks that had apparently been spelled shut to prevent them from being opened; Harry had missed the sting of the magic clinging to the door in his exhaustion.

"Who's there…?" a tremulous voice demanded as the sobs immediately cut off.

"My name is Remus Lupin; we heard you crying and came to investigate," Mr. Lupin stated in a gentle tone as he crouched down just outside of the closet. "Are you hurt?"

"No. But I'm going to be in so much trouble. I promised daddy that I'd watch the first task and write him a proper article for _The Quibbler_, my first proper article, because he couldn't be here and I couldn't watch the task because I was locked in here all day long. Daddy was so looking forward to reading about the first trial of the champions. He especially wanted me to watch the Queen's champion because he was someone special. Only now daddy will be disappointed because I failed."

Harry wriggled down off Mr. Black's back and ducked around the man so that he could get a better 'look' at the girl who'd been locked in a closet. The fact that she'd been locked in a closet bothered him and it angered him that she could potentially get in trouble with her father because of someone else bullying her. He knew how much it hurt to disappoint someone you looked up to and how frightening the dark could be when you were trapped and alone.

"I didn't get to watch the first task either," Harry stated as he slipped by Mr. Lupin next. "I was stuck facing one of the dragons they brought in for the champions to compete against. Do you think your father would accept an interview from one of the champions with a few comments added in from a couple of spectators about the task instead?"

"You'd really do that for me…? Daddy said it would be near impossible to interview any of the champions though."

"Well, so long as you let Mr. Holmes read the article before you sent it to your father, I'm sure he'd allow me to answer your questions. I couldn't let you get in trouble for something that wasn't your fault though, not if there is something that I can do to help you."

"A Blibbering Humdinger told me that this year would be a good year but until now I wasn't sure I believed him," the girl dreamily stated as she climbed to her feet and tip-toed closer to Harry. "It's nice to finally meet you Harry Potter. I'm Luna Lovegood but you can call me Loony; everyone always does."

"The name Luna suits you far batter than any cruel nickname," Harry firmly stated as he reached out for her hand and dragged her out of the closet. "Come on; we have to hurry or we'll be late for the feast and then I'll be in trouble with my guardian. You can sit with me and after the meal, you can come back to our suite and I'll give you an interview."

Harry ignored the amused chuckles the three adults smothered as he continued to drag Luna through the halls towards the guest suite they were occupying; his exhaustion forgotten in the simmering fury he held tightly in check. He hated the mere thought that another had been imprisoned and picked on like he had (even if the circumstances were slightly different). Little Lady grumbled on his shoulder but that was more because she was being jostled by all of Harry's antics.

Once they reached their borrowed rooms, Harry pulled Luna inside and hauled her right up to Dr. Watson as he bluntly stated, "Luna was found locked in a closet by bullies and she'll need her feet looked at because she wasn't wearing any shoes and her clothes are ripped. Please help her while I get cleaned up; she'll be eating with us and I promised her an interview about the task because her father works for _The Quibbler_ and she was supposed to watch the task and write an article about it but she was trapped in the closet for the whole day."

"Daddy doesn't work for _The Quibbler_, silly; he owns it," Luna corrected absently as she glanced at the adults in the room with wide eyes.

"Oh, that's nice but it doesn't change anything," Harry replied before he promptly left the room to go take his shower and change into a clean suit.

"You know, he's grown quite bossy lately," Sherlock commented just before Harry closed the door to his room and striped out of his sweat soaked and dust covered tuxedo once Little Lady had dropped off of his shoulder.

When Harry returned to the sitting room fifteen minutes later, he found the room empty but for his guardian. He felt a little nervous all of a sudden as he recalled that he still didn't know what his guardian had thought of his performance. He nearly winced when he recalled his earlier assertion that he was giving Luna an interview as well.

"Come sit down, Mr. Potter," Mycroft instructed. Harry complied without a word and tried his best not to let his sudden nervousness show. "Thank you; there are a few things I think we need to discuss before the others finish getting ready for the feast. First, I am proud of you for the way you approached the task this afternoon. As displeased I am with the Tournament officials for placing you in such a position, it was very satisfying to see you perform admirably while in such a tenuous position. I am also very relieved that you were not injured during the task."

"That brings us to the next topic; your performance. Many people are going to hound you about your decision to tackle the task without using any apparent magic; so, you need to be prepared to deal with their prying questions. I've had no less than fifteen requests for an interview with you from various publications since the press conference a week ago and after today; I expect I'll have another fifteen on my desk before the weekend is over. Make certain that you do not go anywhere without an adult just in case one of the reporters attempt to accost you to snag a preemptive interview without approval."

"I understand, sir," Harry replied with a brief grimace. "Will you be granting any of them an interview?"

"Not exactly, but I will consent to a press conference at some point before the Tournament is over. That will probably take place sometime next month because the sooner we give them something to chew on, the less likely they will be to stalk you in an attempt to catch you alone and vulnerable. I will give you a minimum of forty-eight hours warning ahead of time so that you can properly prepare yourself for such an event though."

"Okay."

"One last thing; why did you promise Miss Lovegood an interview?"

"She was locked in a closet all alone for the entire day but what really bothered her was the idea that her father was going to be disappointed with her for failing to write the article she'd been asked to write in his stead. She might have been lying but the Namelessness could sense her sincerity. And Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson taught me to never make a girl cry if I could help it and the only thing I could think of to stop her tears was to offer her a chance to write an even better article for her father."

"Mummy will be pleased to know that you've remembered that particular lesson," Mycroft stated with a soft laugh.

"Am I in trouble for promising her that interview without clearing it with you first?"

"No, not this time; only because you told her that I would have to approve the article before she sent it to her father."

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and slouched down in his seat as he ran his fingers through Little Lady's fur to make certain she was completely dry. A slightly dopey grin then slid across his face as he recalled the fact that Mycroft had said he was proud of him for his performance in today's task. Making his guardian proud was something he'd strove to do repeatedly over the past five years.

"What happened to Luna?" Harry asked a moment later as he recalled that she wasn't in the room.

"Dr. Watson offered up use of his bedroom and bathroom so that she could clean herself up after he asked Mimzy to fetch her a clean change of clothes. I imagine that she will be out momentarily."

Harry hummed an acknowledgement as he continued lavishing attention on the kneazle in his lap while he waited for the others to finish getting ready. Little Lady purred loudly and leaned into his fingers as he scratched her under the chin and behind the ears at the same time. She soon stood up to place both her paws on his chest to lick his chin when he shifted his hands to bury his fingers in the thick, pale ruff around her neck. Harry laughed and leaned down to rub noses with her before he kissed her forehead.

"Bonding with a blue kneazle is considered to be an exceptionally good omen in wizarding lore because blue represents calmness and is considered to be a rare color in the animal world – making those animals with true blue coats akin to royalty. White represents friendship and is considered to be a sacred color; making the creature a vessel of the spirits and lesser gods and goddesses in the old religions," Luna stated in the same dreamy voice she'd used to introduce herself earlier as she breezed into the room on silent feet. "She's also a very beautiful kneazle."

"Yow," Little Lady smugly agreed.

"She's also very vain," Dr. Watson pointed out with a soft laugh as he entered the room alongside Sherlock.

"Yeow," Little Lady retorted indignantly over the implied slight.

"She's perfect," Harry quickly assured the kneazle as he pretended to cover her ears to protect her from further insult.

"Perfectly spoiled," Sherlock dryly countered with a snort.

"All little princesses should be spoiled," Luna airily stated.

Harry snickered softly as Little Lady practically preened in response to Luna's implication that she was a princess. The little female certainly acted like a princess at times and there was no denying that Harry truly spoiled her rotten every chance he got. Harry wouldn't have it any other way though.

Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin returned to the sitting room just a few minutes later and the group headed back down to the Great Hall for the feast. Harry escorted Luna on his arm, as decorum dictated he do (at least according to Mrs. Holmes), while the two teens avidly discussed various creatures (both real and imagined). Their arrival actually caused quite a stir as Harry had rarely been seen in the company of the other students and the majority of the students hadn't seen him in an animated discussion with another student before. Unfortunately, there were a number of individuals that took offense to his chosen companion for the feast.

As Harry's small group moved to take their customary seats at the Gryffindor table (that table consistently maintaining the lowest number of occupants during the evening meals), they were approached by a small handful of Hogwarts' students wearing the colors of Ravenclaw. Harry actually felt Luna cringing as the group of six students walked up to their group with scowls and sneers on their faces and he immediately deduced that these individuals were amongst those that had bullied the younger girl. Harry's earlier anger surged in response to that knowledge.

"How dare you show your face in here, Loony; no one wants to be contaminated with your freakishness," one girl hissed as she reached out to grab Luna's arm with the intention of yanking the girl away from Harry's side.

"How dare you assault my dinner companion," Harry countered as he deftly snagged hold of the girl's wrist before she could actually latch onto Luna's arm. "Your rudeness is unbecoming of a young lady and you owe an apology to my companion for both the insult and the embarrassment you caused her by insulting her in such a public setting."

"Apologize to Loony Lovegood? As if! If anything, she should be apologizing to us for daring to show her face in here after we warned her to keep her freakishness to herself!" another one of the girls spat back.

Silence rippled through the Great Hall as everyone's attention was drawn to the confrontation. Harry felt another spike of anger shoot through him as the girl had basically just confessed to being one of the ones to lock Luna in the closet earlier that day.

"People like you disgust me; attacking others out of sheer pettiness and a misguided belief of superiority," Harry stated as he barely suppressed the urge to sneer at the girl who'd just spoken. "What right do you have to belittle another? Who gave you the power to decide who may or may not attend a feast intended for the entire student body? And who, pray tell, gave you the right to ruin a girl's clothes, steal her shoes and wand, destroy her personal property, and lock her in a closet for an entire day?"

"She deserved it! You don't know her; she's delusional! Always talking about her stupid make-believe creatures and her ridiculous made up illnesses! If she didn't want to be an outcast, then she shouldn't be a freak!" the first girl, who Harry had not yet released, spat out angrily.

"You truly are a small minded individual, aren't you? How do you know the things that Luna's speaks of don't exist? What proof do you have that she's making them up?"

"Why are you defending her? No one else believes in the stupid creatures she talks about!" yet another girl interjected.

"No one else believes in the creatures she speaks about? Really…? Are you certain about that? Correct me if I am wrong, but doesn't her father publish information about those same creatures in his newspaper?" Harry demanded as he finally dropped the girl's arm and crossed his arms over his chest as a blank mask slid over his face.

"Big deal; her father's just as loony as she is!" the second girl spat out.

"He is still another person that believes and his belief in those same creatures proves that your earlier claim that no one else believes in the creatures that Luna speak of is false," Harry countered firmly before he turned to face Luna. "I will go one step even further though. Luna, do you know how many individuals currently subscribe to _The Quibbler_?"

"Two thousand, six hundred, fifty-nine," Luna quietly rattled off without any hesitation.

"So, that's two thousand, six hundred, fifty-nine additional individuals that potentially accept that those same creatures exist or are at least open to accepting the existence of the creatures that Luna and her father believe exist."

"Who cares how many people are stupid enough to waste their money on that trash! No one has ever seen one of her stupid creatures and no one ever will because they don't exist!" the only boy in the group retorted as he gave Luna a twisted look of disgust.

"So, you have to _see_ something for it to be true?" Harry countered in a flat tone. "I _see_ nothing. Tell me, what color is the sky?"

"Blue," the boy replied in an irritated voice.

"Prove it."

"Huh-wha…?"

"Prove it. Prove to me that the sky is blue."

"Everyone knows that the sky is blue."

"I don't; I can't see your so-called blue sky. So prove to me that it exists," Harry demanded a second time.

"I don't have to prove that it exists, I know it's there because I can see it. And so can everyone else."

"And yet, I can't see it and by your logic, I have no choice but to deny the existence of said blue sky. For all I know, the color you were taught was called blue is actually red or purple and not really blue at all. So why should I believe you?"

Dead silence followed in the wake of Harry's rebuttal. Harry let them squirm for several moments before he addressed the group of bullies once more, "A person's eyes are not the sole judge of what does or does not exist. I am blind yet I see more than you could ever dream of seeing with the limits imposed upon your eyes by your tiny little brains. I may have never seen any of the creatures that Luna has spoken about in the past half an hour but that does not mean they don't exist. For all you know, those creatures may well have been seen by others; only those individuals called them by different names than those that Luna uses."

"To belittle and scorn someone for their beliefs makes you nothing more than petty little bullies; a group of close-minded people who can't bother to open their eyes and see beyond their own insecurities. All six of you are supposed to be from the House of Ravenclaw; the House of the Intelligent, a house that is supposed to cherish knowledge above all else. And yet you chose to suppress knowledge instead of embracing it. Tell me, how many of you actually bothered to research the creatures that Luna has mentioned? How many of you attempted to gather more information about her creatures? From what little I have heard; the answer to both of those questions is none. You chose instead to silence one of the few true Ravenclaws amongst your housemates."

"Is there a problem here, Mr. Potter?" Madam McGonagall inquired as she approached the group that was currently the center of attention.

"No, Madam McGonagall; just a small difference of opinion," Harry politely answered as he turned his head in her direction.

"There most certainly is a problem; your disrespect has gone on long enough," the snide tones of Mr. Snape declared as he swept up to the group. "You will start addressing the staff of this school with respect or I will see to it that you spend the next six weeks scrubbing cauldrons. It is deplorable that a child your age has such poor manners."

"I have not once disrespected any of the adults I have come into contact with since I was forced into participating in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Mr. Snape," Harry countered with just the briefest glance in acidic man's direction.

"You _will_ address me using my proper title…"

"He did, Mr. Snape," Mycroft interjected as he stepped in on Harry's behalf once it became apparent that the wizard was escalating the argument.

"I am a professor at this school and as such, all students are required to address me as _Professor_ Snape."

"My ward is not one of your students, _Mr._ Snape."

"Regardless, he is still a guest in this castle and I demand that he treats me with respect."

"My ward did, _Mr._ Snape. The credentials that entitle the professionals of the magical world to claim specific titles (such as professor, barrister, or healer) do not carry over into the non-magical world just as our credentials do not carry over into your world," Mr. Holmes countered smoothly. "And while you could theoretically have taken the effort to obtain the credentials necessary to lay claim to the title of professor in my world; I am fully aware of the fact that you have not, Mr. Snape. Therefore, the only title that my ward is obligated to call you by is mister and I will not tolerate your attempts to punish him for his choice of honorifics when you are clearly doing so because of your own since of inferiority that was spurred by the animosity you hold for my ward's deceased father."

"Why are you making such a big deal out of calling Professor Snape, Professor Snape?" one of the bullies demanded in a confused tone.

"It is a matter of principle," Harry replied without bothering to swing his head around to face the witch that had asked the question. "Not only has Mr. Snape insulted me and my caretakers from the moment he appeared uninvited in our home, but he is not and will never be my instructor. And as my guardian just stated, the credentials that entitle the professionals of your world to claim specific titles do not carry over into the non-magical world."

"What do you mean our world, Potter? You're a wizard too! That means that you are just as much a part of the magical world as the rest of us," the witch who'd tried to grab Luna blurted out.

"Wrong," Harry corrected in a sharp voice as his control on his temper slipped just a bit due to being labeled as a wizard by the bullying witch. "I am not a wizard and this is not my world."

"How can you say that?" one of the reporters demanded loudly while the rest of the hall reeled in shock over Harry's declaration.

"Why would I want to be part of the world that abandoned me to my magic hating relatives thirteen years ago?" Harry counter demanded in a flat, emotionless tone. "The same world, I might add, that cast me aside without a second thought when the full extent of my disability came to light five years ago. No, I am not a wizard. And when this tournament is over, I will happily return to the life I made for myself in the world that raised me. Now, if you will please excuse us; my companions and I wish to enjoy the feast that was prepared in honor of all four champions."

"You didn't have to stand up for me," Luna quietly stated as the room around them swelled with conversation as everyone began to discuss the brief moment of drama they had witnessed while the bullies slunk back to their table in defeat and the two staff members that had attempted to intercede silently withdrew to their seats; one in silent regret and the other in impotent anger.

"Yes, I did. You are my dinner companion and therefore it is my responsibility to make certain you enjoy yourself; that includes dealing with those who would dare attack you while you are in my company. You also don't deserve to be belittled for your beliefs simply because they differ from the beliefs of those around you. I will admit to having very little tolerance for bullies and tend to react negatively when I stumble upon any form of bullying."

"You still didn't have to defend the existence of the creatures I talk about."

"Well, if I didn't defend their existence, then I'd be a hypocrite. After all, just because I'd never heard of them or seen them before I lost my eyesight doesn't mean that they don't exist. I'm also curious to know if any of your creatures could be related to the jackalope or the chupacabra."

"Jackalope…?" Luna inquired with avid curiosity.

"They are a species of rabbits that have antlers; a kind of hybrid cross between a jack rabbit and an antelope. They are purportedly native to North America," Harry replied as he waited for the feast to begin. "They are supposed to have the ability to mimic any sound they hear, including the human voice. The milk of a mother jackalope is also reported to have healing properties when taken from the sleeping female. To catch one, you have to set out an offering of whiskey for them to drink; which will impair their senses and make them easier to catch. They are a rather shy and rare species, though they will attack viciously if cornered."

"Fascinating, I shall have to ask daddy if he's heard about jackalopes," Luna exclaimed excitedly.

"If he goes searching for them out in the wild, make sure you warn him to watch out for con artists; there are a number of individuals that create fake trophies of supposed jackalopes that they sell to tourists," Mycroft advised with a barely hidden smile of amusement.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes; daddy is always mindful of hoaxes because he'd lose credibility with his readers if he didn't do proper research for all of the articles he prints," Luna stated in all seriousness. "He's still trying to track down Stubby Boardman to get an interview with him regarding his misidentification as Sirius Black."

Mr. Black choked on the pumpkin juice he'd been drinking the moment he heard that and Harry couldn't help but snicker at his godfather before he shot the man an evil grin and offered, "You know, Sirius Black – Mr. Boardman's alter ego – is my godfather; I bet I could get you an interview with him."

"Could you really? I could ask daddy to send me the list of questions he'd prepared for Mr. Boardman years ago when I send him your interview and the article about the first task. He'd be ever so pleased to wrap that story up for our readers."

"Excellent, let me introduce you to him right now. If you'll turn to your right, the man covered in pumpkin juice is my infamous godfather, Sirius Black. Mr. Black, meet Luna Lovegood; she's an upcoming star reporter for _The Quibbler_."

"Padfoot, I do believe you've just been pranked and that your new publicist has just made arrangements for you to give your first ever interview," Mr. Lupin drawled in amusement.

"How wonderful!" Luna crowed, her eyes sparkling with pure excitement.

"I'm doomed," Mr. Black groaned theatrically; making the rest of the group laugh as the last of the tension caused by the earlier confrontation melted away.

The feast was opened just a few minutes later as the last of the stragglers seated themselves. It would be the first meal that Harry truly enjoyed within Hogwarts castle; his attention almost completely focused on Luna instead of the multitude of nosy students that were blatantly eavesdropping on their conversation about mythical creatures and the differences between the magical and non-magical worlds. Luna actually somewhat reminded Harry greatly of Sherlock with her unique outlook on life, her obvious intelligence, and her very odd and twisted sense of humor.

Directly after the meal, their group returned to their suite of rooms where Harry provided Luna with an overview of the first task from his point of view; including his shock upon learning that he'd be required to face a dragon mere minutes before the task actually started (going so far as to show off the miniature dragon figurine he'd been given when he'd selected his opponent). Dr. Watson then described each of the champion's performances from the audience's perspective with both of the Holmes brothers adding in a comment or two. Luna even talked Harry into playing a small portion of each of the songs that he'd played during the task for her.

He would deeply regret giving in to her request to examine the golden egg that Little Lady had helped him steal from his dragon's nest. The high-pitched screeching that had filled the room the instant she'd opened the egg had deafened him for a good ten minutes and caused him a fair amount of pain. Luna had apologized profusely for opening the egg once he could hear again but he'd waved off the apology since she'd had no way of knowing the egg would do that. He did make certain the egg was secured shut so that it wouldn't fall open on its own if it was knocked over though.

Just before Luna was escorted back to Ravenclaw Tower for the evening, Mycroft requested that she send him a copy of her finished article so he could proof read it before it was sent off to her father to be printed. Mr. Black then walked the younger teen back to her common room (and somehow ended up making arrangements for his own interview at the same time) where they were met by Mr. Flitwick to discuss her bullying at the hands of her housemates.

Just two floors below the guest suite where Harry was staying, Albus Dumbledore wearily replayed his memory of the earlier (and very public) confrontation as a few scattered tears of regret soaked into his beard.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>_And now you finally know the reasoning I used behind Harry not using proper titles to address the staff at Hogwarts by. Harry's seemingly abrupt change in personality and his willingness to spend time with Luna will be explained in the next chapter, I believe. I do know that I explained it at some point though. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and will try to get the next chapter posted on time. ~ Jenn _


	19. Dancing Date

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Eighteen: Dancing Date<span>

_Monday, December 12, 1994 4:39 P.M.  
>Hogwarts Castle, Scotland<em>

Luna would be a frequent visitor to Harry's rooms after that and he often sat with her during meal times whenever he ate in the Great Hall. Their conversations frequently covered various creatures (both mundane and magical as well as both real and imagined), herbology and plant lore, and music. They also discussed magical theory, with Harry tearing holes in what most magical believed magic to be capable of doing and Luna in turn ripping some of Harry's arguments to shreds (her well thought out counter arguments often shocked her eavesdropping peers since they'd conveniently forgotten that the Sorting Hat had placed her in Ravenclaw for a reason).

Their debates, while rather heated at times, were always friendly and involved hundreds of examples both for and against their individual stances. They were also well attended whenever they were held outside of the guest suite; the other students of all three schools very interested in listening to and occasionally participating in the discussions. Some of the other students still mocked them (the Slytherins under Draco Malfoy's direction in particular) but those individuals were slowly being ignored more and more as the days went by.

Fred and George Weasley (from Gryffindor), Padma Patil (from Ravenclaw), Hannah Abbot, and Susan Bones (the last two both from Hufflepuff) were the most notable and frequent participants. Fred and George were identical twins with an overly serious and studious nature (though they hadn't always been that way according to rumors), Padma was very pragmatic with a highly analytical mind, Hannah was a calm individual with a perpetually happy outlook and a tendency to mother those around her, and Susan was actually a hidden romantic with a deep affection for flights of fancy but extremely knowledgeable in wizarding laws, traditions, and politics.

The twin brothers used to be known as pranking hellions until their baby sister had been kidnapped and killed during her first year at Hogwarts (her body never recovered) and their younger brother had been admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital after his entire memory had been erased by a former staff member. Padma had been somewhat ostracized over the last four years by her housemates like Luna, though not to the same extent as the dainty blonde, due to her heritage and her penchant for questioning everything. Hannah was well liked due to her friendly nature but often overlooked because she was not a pureblood. Susan, on the other hand, was often forced to hide her true self due to her family's connections to the magical government.

All six individuals (Luna included) were the first children Harry had ever spent time with beyond a single play date (the fourteen year old not counting the other students present because he didn't willingly interact with them). Harry wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that and his insecurity often made him skittish and snappy at first. After the first few times, he actually settled down and accepted their continued presence; mostly because they were undemanding and respected his privacy. That he could hold intelligent conversations with all of them helped; even if their conversations all revolved around magic and magical theory (bar those that discussed creatures and plants).

Out of those six individuals, Luna was the one that Harry felt the most connected to. There was just something about the dainty witch that called to his soul. Sherlock asserted that the connection he felt had to do with similar experiences while Mr. Black adamantly insisted that Harry was finally just beginning to notice girls as, well, girls. Harry readily accepted Sherlock's explanation and ignored his godfather; Harry had always known girls were girls, after all. He was also well educated in all matters pertaining to physical intimacy between two individuals (and as yet had no desire to engage in such activities).

Harry shook his head to clear away the distracting thoughts before he returned to the report that he was supposed to be writing on Shakespeare's _Othello_ which Sherlock had acted out for him with the help of Dr. Watson, Mr. Black, and Mr. Lupin. Well, truthfully, Sherlock had merely read the narrative while the other three men recited the parts of various characters. Normally, Harry would have just listened to the audio CD of the play's reenactment but his CD player didn't work at Hogwarts and so he'd needed someone to read the play out loud for him. It had been rather entertaining to have the four men acting out the entire play for him; he had been especially amused by the fact that Mr. Black had been purposefully assigned to portray all of the feminine rolls in the play by Sherlock.

The fourteen year old managed to punch out another paragraph using his full page Braille slate and his best stylus (the handle worn smooth from years of use) before he was distracted by a knock at the door. Harry paused and canted his head to one side in curiosity as Dr. Watson got up to answer the door. It didn't take him long to identify their visitor as Madam McGonagall and Harry began putting away his school work before she was even invited into room; knowing she had most likely been sent to pass along information regarding the Tournament or to pass along a request for him to join the other champions in the Great Hall for the evening meal.

Madam McGonagall had consistently been the staff member that Mr. Dumbledore sent to fetch him or pass along information he needed to know. Harry didn't mind; Madam McGonagall was one of the few magicals he could respect because she was fair, honest, and didn't put up with any nonsense. She often reminded him of Mrs. Holmes; only not quite as bossy – not that he'd ever let Mummy Holmes know he thought her bossy. He did not have a death wish.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Madam McGonagall greeted as she swept into the room. "I apologize for disrupting your afternoon but Albus asked me to relay a message to you regarding the next event that the champions will be required to attend."

"It was my understanding that the second task would be taking place at the end of February, has the official date of the task been changed?" Dr. Watson inquired with a slight frown.

"No, the next event is not an actual task, though the champions are required to attend," Madam McGonagall countered with a shake of her head. "The Yule Ball is designed to encourage the students from the different schools to intermingle in a more relaxed environment. Attendance for the champions is mandatory; it is tradition for the champions of all three schools to open the dancing and as such, Mr. Potter will be required to secure himself a date to the ball."

"I'm doomed," Harry mournfully stated as he buried his face in his hands.

"If you require dance lessons, you are more than welcome to attend the lessons that the staff will be providing over the next week and a half for the younger students that were invited to attend the ball."

"Harleigh is well versed in the execution of the more traditional ballroom dances in addition to several other styles of dance," Sherlock interjected with obvious amusement.

"Harleigh…?" Madam McGonagall repeated with some confusion.

"Harry," Harry corrected as he dropped his hands to shoot Sherlock a pouting glare. "Mr. Holmes has made it his life's long mission to give me what he considers a less common name. It is a dead horse that he has been beating for five years."

"I see," Madam McGonagall said in a tone that clearly said she did not see. The stern witch then immediately returned to the matter at hand as she stated, "The Yule Ball will be held on Christmas day from eight p.m. to midnight in the Great Hall and inner courtyard. Appropriate formal attire is mandatory. If you have a girlfriend outside of the castle, you may invite her as your date for the ball or you may ask any girl from one of the three of the schools. Please try not to wait until the last minute to secure a date."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I shall bid you good day then," Madam McGonagall stated before she swept out of the room.

"So, who are you going to ask to be your date?" Mr. Black inquired as he dropped down into a chair beside Harry.

"Can't I just take Little Lady…?" Harry plaintively asked as he dropped his head into the table with a loud thunk while his hands automatically reached out to pet the sleeping kneazle curled up on his lap.

"Somehow I don't think your cat, as pretty as she is, will qualify as a proper date," Dr. Watson replied with a laugh.

"I hate dancing."

"Just think of how much worse this unofficial task would be if Mummy hadn't insisted on you being given formal dance lessons," Sherlock logically pointed out.

"That doesn't actually make me feel any better; I'm still going to have to have a date and then I'm going to have to dance with her in front of the other students. And because Mrs. Holmes would frown at me and lecture me about how to treat a lady properly, I'm probably going to have to spend the entire ball dancing with my date; least she grow bored and think me a horrible date."

"It would be best to find a date who you won't mind spending quality time with then," Mr. Lupin suggested; an obvious undercurrent of amusement coloring his voice. "I would advise you to ask someone in the next couple of days; since the longer you wait, the higher the chances that someone else will ask your chosen girl first."

Harry groaned in response before he gathered up his things and made a tactical retreat to his room so he could escape the current conversation. He really didn't want to attend the ball and he really, really, didn't want to spend an entire night dancing. Sitting down on his mostly unused bed, Harry ran a hand over his face as he tried to figure out what he was going to do about the Yule Ball while his other hand held the still sleeping Little Lady cradled like a baby. A large part of him wished he could get out of attending the ball but knew there was little chance of either the Tournament officials or his guardian and caretakers allowing him to do so.

Sighing, Harry dropped backwards so he was lying on the bed (much to Little Lady's displeasure when she woke up due to being jostled by his change in position) and reluctantly began to seriously consider who he could ask to be his date. He immediately cut any girl older than him by more than a year out of the running; he wasn't going to dance with someone taller than him because he'd just look silly (he knew that for a fact thanks to his many dance lessons). He also wasn't going to ask any of the obvious fan-girls; those girls seriously creeped him out.

That really only left him four potential choices if he was honest; Luna, Padma, Hannah, or Susan.

Out of those four, Harry felt the most comfortable around Luna but a small part of him was leery of asking her to be his date because he knew his godfather would tease him and make a big deal out of it. Of course, his godfather would do that no matter who he asked to be his date. Harry sighed a second time before he resolved to simply ask Luna the next time he saw her and if she said no, then he'd ask one of the other three girls.

Decision made, Harry sat up (sending Little Lady off in a huff for disturbing her nap yet again before she curled up on his pillows) and collected his classwork from where he'd dropped it on the bed when he first sat down and resolved to finish his report. The busy work helped him to put all thoughts of dancing and dates out of his mind as he concentrated on dissecting the plot line of _Othello_ and the relationships between the main characters.

A brisk knock on the door immediately followed by the door being opened pulled Harry away from his work roughly an hour later. He set his nearly finished report to one side as he swung his head around to face the doorway even as the Namelessness reached out to show him an image of Dr. Watson peering into the room.

"Mimzy just delivered supper; please put your things away and wash up before you come out to eat," Dr. Watson stated once he had Harry's attention.

"Yes, sir."

It only took Harry five minutes to put away his work, wash his hands, and collect Little Lady from his bed. He exited the bedroom at that point and headed for the table where he snagged Little Lady's supper off of the table and carried it over to the placemat in the corner that had been designated as her eating area. He stood there just long enough for Little Lady to jump down from his shoulder before he took his seat at the table and prepared to start eating only to pause when he noted the extra, unoccupied place setting directly to his right.

"Who are we waiting for?" Harry asked when he noticed that everyone else was already seated in their customary seats around the table. A knock sounded at the door almost as soon as he finished asking his question.

"Why don't you go answer the door and find out?" Mr. Black suggested in a slightly smug tone that was more than a little amused.

Harry frowned at his godfather for a heartbeat before he rose from his chair and crossed the room to answer the door. He was halfway across the room when the Namelessness showed him exactly who was standing outside the door and he tossed a brief scowl over his shoulder at the meddlesome adults in his life. He then schooled his face into a polite mask a moment later as he opened the door and greeted Luna.

"Good evening, Luna."

"Hi, Harry. I'm not late am I? I just got the invitation Mr. Boardman sent inviting me to join you for supper and I hurried here all the way from the tower," Luna replied as she entered the room.

"No, you're not late; we were just sitting down."

"Oh good, daddy always said one should never be late because you never know just what you'll miss by not being there when things are supposed to start. Of course, it is also better to arrive unfashionably late than it is to not show up at all."

"Punctuality is the mark of a man who knows where he is, where he is going, and where he needs to be and knows how to properly manage his time accordingly so that he is where he needs to be when he needs to be there," Harry sagely stated as he led Luna to the table and pulled out her chair for her.

"My dear annoying brother has had entirely too much influence on your education," Sherlock complained with a slight scowl.

"Mycroft has frequently said the same thing in regards to your influence upon his ward," Mr. Lupin pointed out with a soft laugh.

Harry shook his head and tuned out the adults' conversation as he turned his attention to his unplanned dinner guest and asked, "Which creature did you study in Care of Magical Creatures today? Are you still covering snow and ice fairies or did your instructor move onto something new?"

"Professor Grubbly-Plank introduced us to fire salamanders today; she had us build a big bonfire in the empty stadium from the first task and we spent the rest of the lesson observing the salamanders. Did you know that fire salamanders can travel between fires and that their ability to do so was the catalyst for the development of the Floo Network? They also eat dying embers and burning charcoal in order to maintain their inner body temperatures along with any bugs and small animals that get caught in the flames."

"No, I didn't know the salamanders could travel through the flames; though it makes sense for them to do so because otherwise how would they get into the fire in the first place? Are the fire salamanders skittish and shy like mundane salamanders?"

"Yes, they were easily frightened if one of my classmates got too loud or moved too suddenly. They were highly curious creatures too and if you were quiet and kept low to the ground, you could feed them grub worms from a metal skewer and they'll snap them up right off the end. Colin Creevey, he's a third year Gryffindor, managed to snap a few pictures of them with his camera while I fed them that way."

"How large do fire salamanders get?"

"The smaller species reach an average of seven to eight inches in length while the largest species of fire salamanders can reach up to twelve feet in length."

"How do you differentiate between the different species?"

"By the types of fuel that is used to start the fire and the intensity of the flames generated by the fuel; the larger species are quite rare to find anywhere outside of an active volcano or at the heart of a raging forest fire while the smallest of the salamanders will seek out any magical fire that has a bit of wood. You might not see them though because they will leave if there isn't any food for them to eat within the flames or if the fire is already dying when they turn up."

"How does one study a creature that lives in flames?" Dr. Watson asked curiously; the man obviously had been listening in on Harry and Luna's conversation.

"With flame freezing charms," Luna replied as she glanced towards the man. "We haven't learned that charm yet so our class didn't get to play in the fire with the salamanders like the sixth and seventh year classes did earlier this week."

"There is something inherently wrong about encouraging children to play with fire," Dr. Watson deadpanned as his hands paused for a moment before he resumed eating.

"What did you expect from a society that works with and travels through flames on a daily basis?" Mr. Black countered with a laugh.

"There are days when I truly miss the comfort of cold, hard logic," Dr. Watson muttered under his breath and Harry couldn't help but laugh at the irony in that statement; he knew from hundreds of stories that Dr. Watson had written and told him that the man's life had been nothing but a long string of illogical escapades since the day he'd been born.

The rest of the meal and dessert passed fairly quickly and before Harry knew it, he had been left alone in the sitting room with Luna. Part of him was irritated at the adults for conspiring to meddle in his life but for the most part he just felt relieved that he wouldn't have an audience if Luna turned him down flat. Needing to find the courage he would need to actually ask her to be his date for the ball, Harry moved to his piano and lifted the hinge on the keyboard cover before he lightly ran his fingers across the ivory keys.

And then he played.

The piece he'd subconsciously chosen was part of a waltz; the notes soft and airy as the melody playfully danced through the room. He had just started to relax and get lost in the music when Luna sat down on the piano bench beside him and his fingers stumbled to a stop on a discordant crash of notes. He blushed brightly in response to both Luna's close proximity and his clumsy reaction. He then cleared his throat and slid over a bit more to give Luna more room on the bench and to place a bit of space between them.

"I like listening to you play," Luna stated in a quiet tone that was unlike the dreamy quality her voice usually adopted when she spoke as she tentatively walked her fingers across the keys one note at a time. "The notes and melody of the songs you play come to life in a way that magic can't replicate. It's as if you pour your entire soul into the music you play and in doing so it is as if you are breathing life into your songs."

"Music was the only comfort I had after I woke in The Darkness," Harry stated as he repositioned his hands and began playing once more; his fingers giving life to a gentle harmony of soft chords that complimented Luna's hesitant notes. "Before Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson pulled me from my closet, I only ever listened to what little music my relatives would play and the broken music box I'd snuck out and stole. Mr. Holmes was the one that first taught me how to play the songs I've memorized on the violin and then he taught me how to create my own songs."

Luna didn't say anything in response and a comfortable silence fell over the pair as they continued to play a tentative duet. The longer they played, the more confident Luna grew as she played random notes and chords in an endlessly shifting pattern. Harry quickly found himself enjoying the challenge of trying to anticipate the changes she initiated in tempo, rhythm, and pitch. It wasn't until the chimes of the clock rang out eight times to call the hour that Harry recalled his need for a date for the Yule Ball and his decision to ask Luna to be said date.

"Did one of your instructors inform your class about the upcoming Yule Ball during the winter holidays?" Harry asked as he let his hands fall still on the keys.

"Yes, we were told that the ball would only be open to those in fourth year or above and that the younger years could only attend if they were invited by an older student," Luna replied as she too stopped playing. "I expect that I'll just go home for the holidays as I doubt anyone is going to want to invite Loony Lovegood to be their date and I would hate to be left alone in the dorms while everyone else attended the ball."

"Do you want to go to the ball?"

"Yes, I think it would be lovely; I've never been to a ball before, you see. What about you, do you want to go to the ball?"

"No, not really," Harry replied with a near silent snort. "I'm not fond of dancing. I don't have a choice though; as a champion I have to go and I have to have a date because I am required to open the dancing with the other champions."

"Who are you planning to ask?" Luna asked curiously. "I know there are a lot of girls in the castle that would jump at the chance of being your date."

"Those girls scare me," Harry stated with a shudder. He then spun around on the piano bench so that he was straddling the bench sideways while facing Luna. "As for who I'm going to ask to be my date, well, I wanted to ask you."

"I beg your pardon?" Luna blurted out in complete confusion.

"I said I wanted to ask you to be my date for the ball," Harry repeated nervously; his hands sweating as he began to fear that he was going to be rejected outright. "If I have to dance with a girl, I wanted to at least dance with a girl whose company I like and who won't make me uncomfortable. I may not like to dance but I do know how to dance and if you agree to be my date, I promise I won't step on your feet or anything. So… so will you? Be my date, that is?"

"Why are you asking me?" Luna demanded quietly.

"I like you; you're fun to talk with and you don't treat me like an idiot or an invalid just because I'm blind. If you would rather not go with me, I understand… it's just that you were the first one I thought to ask…"

"You really mean it? You're not just asking me to make fun of me?"

"Luna, when have I ever made fun of you?"

"Never but… well, I never expected you would want to be seen with me at something so important as the Yule Ball. I thought you'd want to take a pretty girl to be your date."

"You are pretty," Harry insisted with a slight scowl that was entirely due to the way Luna had just implied she wasn't pretty enough to be his date.

"Not to be mean, but how would you know? You can't exactly see me, can you?" Luna retorted a bit bitterly as she made to stand up.

Harry snagged Luna's hand to keep her from getting up as he firmly countered, "I do see you. I see you with my heart and with my soul. I don't need to see you with my eyes to see that you are beautiful inside and out. And if there is one thing I learned about girls from Mrs. Holmes, it's that all girls only grow more beautiful as they get older. So, if you are pretty now, then you are going to be, to quote my godfather, 'drop-dead gorgeous' when you grow up."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Yes, I do."

"Thank you, no one has ever said anything so nice to me before… well, daddy has but he doesn't count because he's my daddy and he's supposed to love me and tell me I'm pretty no matter what."

"You're welcome. Now, you never did answer my question; will you go to the Yule Ball with me as my date?"

Luna hesitated for a brief moment before she shyly answered, "Yes, I'll be your date for the ball."

"Brilliant."

"There's only one problem."

"What's that?"

"I don't have proper dress robes to wear and with most of the other girls still needing to get robes, it's not going to be easy to get them in Hogsmeade this weekend."

"That will be easy to fix. If you will give me your body measurements, the color or colors you like best, and a recent photograph of you; I will have Mr. Holmes pick you up something appropriate from London. Anthea, my guardian's assistant, has excellent taste in fashion and she'll be able to pick out a dress for you that will make you the envy of all the other witches in attendance at the ball."

"Oh, but daddy and I couldn't afford anything like that…"

"We can make arrangements for you to borrow a dress instead, if you want," Harry delicately offered; the teen knowing better than to flaunt his (or his guardian's) money in front of those who were not as financially well off as his family had been.

"You can do that…?"

"Oh yes, there are dozens of stores in all of the major cities that loan dresses and suits to people for special occasions."

"I think that will be alright then, but I'll have to ask daddy to be certain that he'd alright with that."

"I can ask Mr. Holmes to talk to your father and explain everything, if you'd like."

"I don't think that will be necessary but thank you for offering. I better go back to my dorm so that I can write to daddy tonight though, to make certain he gets the letter in time."

"We have paper and pens you can use here, if you want and I can ask my godfather or Mr. Lupin to escort you the owlry and then back to your common room so that you don't get in trouble for being out after hours."

"Okay."

Harry got up to dig out a couple sheets of paper and a pen from the desk in the sitting room and handed them to Luna before he went hunting for his godfather. He found the man playing a game of cribbage with Mr. Lupin in the room they shared and Harry rolled his eyes behind his blindfold when his godfather congratulated him on obtaining a date for the Yule Ball. He then stuck his tongue out at his godfather before asking if one of the wizards to escort Luna to the owlry and to her dorms after she sent off her letter.

Mr. Black was quick to volunteer Mr. Lupin to escort the younger teen so that he could do his godfatherly duty and give Harry 'the Talk'. Mr. Black had hoped to embarrass Harry by giving him the sex talk but Harry ended up embarrassing the hell out of his godfather instead when he'd corrected the man on several points. He'd then gone one step further and educated his godfather on several points he'd missed altogether; much to the older man's mortification.


	20. Winter Wonderments

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Nineteen: Winter Wonderments<span>

_Sunday, December 25, 1994 7:05 P.M.  
>Hogwarts Castle, Scotland<em>

Harry shrugged his tuxedo jacket into place and rolled his shoulders to get the jacket to sit properly before he buttoned all but the very bottom button. He then turned and picked up the black velvet collar with a poufy gold silk bow that Anthea had picked out for Little Lady (on Harry's request because he refused to leave her in the guest suite during the ball) and buckled it into place around Little Lady's neck. He took a moment to fluff out the gold bow and turned it so that it sat behind the left side of her head.

Harry then dropped a kiss on the kneazle's nose and told her that she looked beautiful before he set her on his shoulder, grabbed his top hat, and headed out to the sitting room to present himself for inspection. Mycroft critically eyed his outfit (which was a formal black silk tuxedo complete with a white silk shirt and accented with gold cufflinks shaped like music notes, a black bow tie, black cummerbund, and black blindfold). It was an outfit that was nearly identical to the one his guardian was currently wearing (though Mycroft wore monogrammed cufflinks). His bow-tie was then straightened by his guardian and the Queen's sash he'd been presented to wear was draped over his left shoulder again.

"Acceptable," Mycroft stated warmly as he made a single attempt to bring order to Harry's dark mop before he simply placed the top hat Harry had been holding onto Harry's head. "And Little Lady looks suitably adorable in her new collar. Anthea informed me that she will be finished with your date in approximately twenty minutes. Do you still have the corsage I picked up for you to give to your date?"

"Yes, I hid it inside of the piano so that Mr. Black couldn't prank it and so that Luna wouldn't see it before tonight."

"Clever. Did you wish to carry a cane with you tonight?"

"No, I wouldn't know what to do with it when I was dancing. Mr. Black made me a special leg holster for my riding crop that I have strapped to my left thigh under my pants and he altered my pants pocket to allow me to reach it easily; so if I need to protect myself, I will have it on hand."

"Very well, I want you to be extra careful tonight; given the nature of the event this evening, there is a chance that we will not be able to stay within sight of you and your date at all times. It is especially important that you not leave the Great Hall without seeking one of us out to chaperon you and Miss Lovegood; both for your protection and to protect your date's reputation."

"I understand and I'll be careful."

"Good."

Harry wandered over to his practice piano at that point and fished out Luna's corsage (made up of a black elastic band with a tiger lily, white baby's breath, and delicate pale green ferns) so he wouldn't forget to give it to her. He then sat down on the piano bench and absently ran through some simple warm up exercises in order to both pass the time and calm his nerves. This would be his first official date, after all, and he was more than a little nervous about the entire affair; not to mention the fact that he was trying not to think about the dancing he would be required to do that night.

He was drawn back to the present by the sound of a door opening and he stopped playing as the Namelessness painted him an image of Anthea entering the room wearing a dark sapphire blue satin sheath dress with matching stiletto heels. She was also wearing a pearl and sapphire choker around her neck with matching earrings and bracelet. Her hair, as usual, hung loose about her shoulders. Harry thought she looked even more beautiful than she usually did. Apparently, his guardian thought so as well because Mycroft complimented her as he presented her with a rose corsage.

He was just wondering if there was something more between his guardian and his assistant when he was distracted by Luna's entrance. Harry almost didn't recognize her.

The dress that Anthea picked out for Luna was a whimsical satin and velvet A-line formal with a wide strap over Luna's right shoulder while her other shoulder was left bare. The velvet bodice was the rich color of orange sherbet tastefully decorated with clear glass beads that shimmered with each breath Luna took. The snug bodice emphasized her budding bosom while the two inch wide black satin sash tied around Luna's waist drew attention to her tiny waistline. The full length satin skirt was the same rich orange and was covered with a thin layer of raspberry red tulle.

On her feet she wore a pair of dainty black satin slippers that teasingly peeked out from under the hem of her skirt when she walked while she had wide black satin stole draped over her shoulders and looped around her elbows. Her long, blonde hair had been curled, threaded with sherbet orange and black satin ribbons, and artfully piled up on top of her head with a mother of pearl hair clasp preventing her hair from cascading down her back. And lastly, she was wearing a black velvet choker with a single mother of pearl lily on the center with matching mother of pearl earrings. Anthea had also helped the third year Ravenclaw apply a light dusting of make-up that subtly emphasized her natural beauty.

It took Mr. Holmes politely clearing his throat several times to make Harry realize that he was 'staring' at Luna through the Namelessness. Blushing lightly, Harry crossed the room to properly greet his date with a bow before he lightly kissed the knuckles of her left hand as he'd been taught in his deportment lessons. He then cleared his throat and slipped the lily corsage over her left wrist as he stated, "You look like a fairy princess in that dress, Luna. I'm going to be the envy of all the other boys tonight with you as my date."

Luna blushed over the obvious complement before she replied, "You look very handsome tonight too. The top hat makes you look like a dashing noble from decades past."

Harry nearly knocked said top hat off when he reached up to sheepishly rub the back of his head in response to the return compliment. He was saved from his embarrassment at that point by the arrival of the rest of their party; all of them dressed in variations of the standard black tux. Mr. Lupin then pulled out his camera (an old fashioned contraption that worked well around magic) and took several pictures of everyone. The werewolf had even had Harry and Luna pose together by the piano; once with both of them sitting on the bench playing the piano, once with Luna standing beside the piano as Harry played, and one final time with Harry and Luna dancing by the piano while Mycroft played.

Once the impromptu photo shoot was over, they headed down to the Entrance Hall of the castle where all of the students had been told to gather. Harry and Luna would break away from the others once they reached the hall; the pair required to wait in the antechamber off the side of the Great Hall with the other champions and their dates. None of the students who were there to see Harry and his date arrive would recognize Luna and many of them speculated that Harry's date was actually a girl from the non-magical world.

The other three champions and their dates were already inside of the antechamber when Harry and Luna slipped inside and all six individuals turned to look at the young couple. Harry felt more than a little subconscious and out of his depth as this was the first time he'd actually been alone with the three older champions (he'd always had at least one adult escorting him the previous times he'd met with the other champions). His nervousness actually amused the six older students in the room.

"Hey, Potter, glad to see you made it in time," Cedric Diggory greeted teasingly. "We were just debating on whether or not you would actually show up for the ball. There were rumors flying all over the castle that you refused to ask anyone to be your date."

"To be honest, if I had thought I could have managed it, I would have talked my way out of this particular task. I never liked dancing; those lessons were the only ones I couldn't stand over the past five years. I was told that I was required to attend the ball, however, and so here I am. On the plus side, as you can see, I have the two prettiest fairy princesses in all of Hogwarts as my dates tonight."

"Ah, that reminds me," Cedric mused as he pulled his date, a pretty Asian girl that was a year older than Harry, forward to introduce her; his voice rising in confusion towards the end. "This is my girlfriend, Cho Chang. Cho, this is Harry Potter and his dates…?"

"I'm sure you both remember Luna Lovegood and the smaller princess on my shoulder is Little Lady," Harry replied after he politely bowed to Miss Chang.

"You're kneazle is very adorable but why did you bring her to the ball?" Cho inquired curiously before she turned to Luna to state, "And I didn't recognize you at all until Potter said your name, Lovegood; you look very pretty tonight and that dress is beautiful."

"Thank you, Chang; you look very nice too," Luna replied a little hesitantly.

"Little Lady always goes everywhere I go; she is more than just a pet, she is my friend and confidant. She is also a fully trained guide pet; meaning she has been trained to be my eyes. I could no more leave her behind than I could leave my arm behind."

"And she's been trained to steal from da nests of dragons too," Viktor Krum added in his thick accent as he moved forward to greet Harry next. "I trust you also know my date, Susan Bones; I have seen her often hanging vith your small group during meals."

"You look really nice tonight, Susan," Harry stated as he gave the strawberry blonde a bow as well. "And it's not so much that I taught Little Lady to steal, it's that I taught her to retrieve the little things I forget when I'm in a rush. She is also very fond of gold; hence the golden bow on her collar."

"It is very rare for a kneazle as young as yours to have such advanced training," Fleur Delacour interjected as she joined the group with her date; whom she didn't bother to introduce.

"She's actually just small for her age. I first met her when I was about two or three years old and visited with her often until my relatives moved to a different city when I was four and a half. I wouldn't see her again until five years later when Mr. Holmes tracked down her original owner and brought her home for me. She's been with me ever since; so she's at least eleven or twelve years old now."

"Ah, zat makes so much more sense," Fleur murmured with a nod. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you dance as well as you play ze violin?"

"No, but my dance instructor said I was adequate and that I would never get any better until after I stopped seeing dancing as a chore," Harry quipped with a wry, half grin. "I have long since stopped crushing toes and tripping over my own feet though."

"Zen, wiz you and your date's permission, I would like to request that you save me a dance tonight," Fleur all but demanded; her French accent making the request sound a little haughty. "Since zis Tournament is about friendship and cooperation, it is only right zat ze champions show a spirit of unity in zis task; where we do not have to compete against one anozzer. Diggory and Krum have both already agreed to dance wiz me as well."

"It's alright with me," Luna stated in her usually dreamy voice.

"I will not mind; so long as your date won't mind dancing with Luna in turn – it would not be fair for her to sit out when she is officially my date."

"I won't mind dancing with Loony… err, Luna once," Fleur's date interjected. "I'm sorry about the rude name; that was uncalled for."

"It's alright, Davies; I know you didn't mean it like the others did," Luna replied with a tremulous smile.

"Still, I'll try to be more mindful of my mouth in the future," the teen replied before he turned to Harry and held out his hand to the fourteen year old. "I'm Roger Davies, by the way; I'm also the current captain for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team."

Harry had just enough time to shake the older boy's hand before Madam McGonagall arrived to announce that it was time for them to make their entrance. The older witch quickly lined the champions and their dates up by point standings with Harry and Luna in the lead, followed by Fleur and Roger, then Cedric and Cho, and bringing up the rear was Krum and Susan. After that, the stern woman gave their attire a quick once over before she opened the door and led them into the now empty Entrance Hall where she promptly sent them through the doors into the Great Hall; directing them to walk down the center of the room to the dais where they'd find their seats.

The large hall had been transformed into a winter wonderland of ice sometime during the day; with huge columns of ice spaced out along the walls, large ice sculptures between each pair of columns, three giant fir trees dusted with everlasting snow and crystal ornaments (set up behind the dais), icicles hanging from the crown molding, thousands of fairy lights strung up throughout the room, and enchanted snow that fell from the ceiling but never hit the floor. The normal house tables that graced the hall had been replaced with several smaller round tables (each one seating up to twenty people) while the staff table had been reserved for the Tournament champions and officials.

It was to the dais that Harry led the procession of champions and their dates; his steps steady and sure despite the nervousness he felt. As he walked, the Namelessness swirled through the entire room in order to locate his guardian, both of his caretakers, his godfather, and Mr. Lupin. Mycroft was standing behind the table on the dais with Anthea standing to his left him. Sherlock was off by himself at a table on the left side of the room close to the main entrance.

Dr. Watson was on the opposite side of the room from the younger Holmes brother and he was seated beside Charity Burbage (his date for the evening and Hogwarts' Professor of Muggle Studies). Mr. Black was about halfway down the room on the left with another Hogwarts staff member, Septima Vector (Professor of Arithmancy). And lastly, Mr. Lupin was across the room from Mr. Black but slightly closer to the dais and his date was Mr. Black's younger cousin, one Nymphadora Tonks (Mr. Black had set the werewolf up with a date behind the other man's back).

Once he reached the raised table, Harry quickly noted that all of the seating was assigned and he walked down the length of the table until he found his name on a placard with the chair immediately to his left reserved for his date. Harry was quite pleased to find his assigned seat was right beside Anthea's seat while Mr. Crouch was to Luna's left and at the very end of the table (Mr. Crouch had not brought a date); meaning that Harry wouldn't be pestered throughout the meal by Mr. Bagman who was all the way on the opposite side of the table.

The moment all four champions and their dates were in position, those at the staff table sat down. Harry seated Luna before he took his own seat. A whispered word from Anthea had him quickly locating the menu that had been provided and he was pleased to note that his menu had been written in Braille (something he was certain his guardian had been responsible for insuring). He knew from observing the rest of the hall through the Namelessness that he only needed to speak his selection out loud to his plate in order to receive his meal.

He took a moment to peruse the selections before he ordered himself the stuffed Cornish game hen with garlic potatoes and a salad before requesting a broiled salmon (deboned) on the side for Little Lady. Beside him, Luna ordered the braised lamb with vegetables (potatoes, carrots, celery, and onions) and French onion soup. To drink, they had a choice of butterbeer, spiced cider, mulled pumpkin juice, and hot chocolate (the adults also had a choice of mulled wine or mead). After a moment's debate, Harry asked for the spiced cider while Luna ordered butterbeer.

Their meals and drinks were promptly delivered via magic and Harry leaned down to set Little Lady's plate on the floor at his feet; she was never allowed to eat at or on the table. The food itself was delicious and the company more than just tolerable (his guardian and Anthea on one side, a non-demanding acquaintance on the other, and the silent and slightly antisocial Crouch beyond his date). The conversation was also intelligent and unforced and helped Harry to forget about the coming ordeal.

All too soon however, the meal was eaten and the bulk of the attendees urged to stand back out of the way as the tables were shifted out of the way to open up a sizable dance floor and the dais was turned into a stage for the wizarding band that Mr. Dumbledore had hired to play for the ball. As soon as the room was prepared, the champions were required to open the dancing for the ball. Knowing that there was nothing he could do to escape his duty, Harry took a deep breath to steel his nerves and collected Little Lady from the floor before he reluctantly led Luna towards makeshift dance floor that had been opened up in the front half of the room.

"I suppose now would be a bad time to say I'm more than a little nervous about this and I think I've forgotten how to dance?" Luna asked in a dreamy tone that couldn't quite disguise the worry she was feeling as she curtsied a split second behind the other witches on the dance floor.

"Nope, this is the perfect time to warn me," Harry replied with a small smile as he bowed carefully to Luna (so as not to knock Little Lady from his shoulder) before holding his hand out towards her. "Neither of us has been embarrassed yet and I'm pretty certain I can help you." Luna put her hand in his and he tried to ignore his nervousness as they stepped closer together so that she could put her free hand on his shoulder as his free hand settled just above her hip. "The skirt of your dress is long enough to hide your feet if you'd like to stand on my feet while I dance for both of us until you feel a bit more confident."

"Won't that hurt your feet?"

"No, the shoes I'm wearing are extra sturdy and you're a bit shorter and lighter than I am. I also wouldn't have offered if I thought either of us would end up more embarrassed."

"Thank you," Luna murmured in reply as she carefully stepped up onto the tops of his feet.

"You're welcome," Harry replied as he offered her a reassuring smile. "Now, just relax and let me lead."

The music began a heartbeat later and Harry took another deep breath that he let out slowly as he took the first few tentative steps of a basic waltz; giving Luna plenty of time to relax and grow comfortable with the movement. He then smiled and whirled her into a more complicated waltz that had the two of them floating about the edge of the dance floor while the other three champions stayed closer to the center. The only thing missing from their movements were the turns and dips that the waltz called for; but Harry didn't mind and Luna's smile said she was enjoying the dance so far.

Little Lady purred as she dug her claws in to maintain her perch on Harry's shoulder; her presence on Harry's shoulder adding an element of whimsical fantasy to the picture the young couple made as they glided across the dance floor. Harry himself was surprised to find that he didn't mind dancing with Luna as much as he thought he might; of course, having a dance partner that didn't tower over him with the potential of ending up with a face full of cleavage might have had something to do with that. It also helped that no one was pointing out every single little mistake he was making.

When the song came to an end some five minutes later, Harry whirled to a stop as Luna stepped off of his feet and shifted to his side. All six of the students who'd opened the ball then bowed (or curtseyed) to the rest of the attendees as a light smattering of applause filled the Great Hall. There was a surge of couples moving towards the dance floor at that point and Harry pulled Luna over to the far left so they wouldn't be trapped in the middle and so they wouldn't get stepped on by anyone not paying attention to where they were going.

"Would you like to continue dancing or sit down?" Harry asked once they were clear of the crowd.

"I'd like to try dancing on my own two feet this time."

"Alright."

The two of them would spend another three songs out on the dance floor with Luna growing more confident with each passing minute. She'd stepped on his toes a couple of times and tripped over the hem of her dress once but on the whole the two of them did just fine. After their fourth dance, Harry would lead Luna towards the refreshment table so they could grab a couple glasses of lightly sweetened punch before they sat down to rest for a moment.

"You cheated during that first dance," Sherlock stated as he dropped down beside the young couple just a few minutes later. "I doubt anyone else other than Mycroft will have noticed though."

"I was nervous at the time and afraid I'd embarrass us both out there," Luna explained with a light blush.

"I never said there was anything wrong with cheating; the two of you looked rather good out there together."

"What gave us away?" Harry asked curiously on the heels of Luna's soft sigh of relief upon hearing that they weren't in trouble for their unorthodox dancing during the opening dance.

"You were standing far closer than was strictly proper but not close enough for your position to be indecent and your respective heights were closer to being even; ergo, she was standing on your feet while you moved through the steps for both of you. You also failed to execute any turns or dips once you switched forms shortly after starting."

"But you didn't actually see her feet on top of mine?"

"No, Miss Lovegood's dress sufficiently blocked both of your feet from casual view."

"I thought as much," Harry murmured in satisfaction, knowing that only the most observant would have noticed that Luna had been standing on his feet.

After the current song ended, Harry and Luna returned to the dance floor where they would dance another song together before they ended up in a partner exchange with the other champions; Luna getting to dance with Viktor, Cedric, and Roger while Harry danced with Susan, Cho, and Fleur. After that, Luna would dance with Mycroft while Harry danced with Anthea before Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin cut in for one dance each with Harry being left to dance with their dates. It had been a bit fun to dance with Ms. Tonks as she'd shortened herself using her metamorphmagus abilities (to Harry's surprise) so that it wouldn't be such an awkward dance.

The two young teens had then spent twenty minutes outside cooling off under the watchful gaze of Dr. Watson and his date before returning to the dance floor for several more dances. Twice more they would switch partners, once to let Luna dance with Dr. Watson (Harry partnering Ms. Burbage) and once for her to dance with her Head of House (Mr. Flitwick) while Harry danced with Madam McGonagall. The two of them would bump into Fred and George at the refreshment table not long after that dance, the older boys had come with two of the chasers from the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, and chat with the pair for a few minutes before they sat down to rest a second time.

They would also cross paths with Hannah at one point, who'd come to the ball with one of Viktor's friends from Durmstrang. After that, the two of them would simply sit at one of the tables until the ball officially ended; the champions being required to stay for the entire duration of the ball. He had also needed to wait for one of the adults to escort him through the castle so that he could walk Luna back to the Ravenclaw Tower before he returned to the guest suite.

The walk through the darkened halls of the castle after midnight was kind of creepy but neither teen really noticed it as they commented on different people and things they'd noticed during the course of the evening while their escort (Mr. Lupin) leisurely trailed after them. It only took them about twenty minutes to navigate the hallways and shortcuts (Luna leading the group) and then it was time for Harry to say goodnight to his date.

"Thank you for being my date tonight, Luna," Harry stated as they stopped just a few feet away from the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. "I had more fun than I expected I would when I was first told about the ball."

"I had fun too. I'm really glad that you asked me to go as your date; I would have been really sad to miss tonight," Luna replied before she unexpectedly leaned forward to briefly press her lips to Harry's.

"Um… what was that, Luna…?" Harry asked in confusion once Luna pulled back.

"It was a kiss, silly."

"Er, I knew that… what I meant to ask was why did you just kiss me?"

"I wanted to thank you for tonight."

"You know you didn't have to kiss me to thank me, right?"

"Yes, I know; I wanted to kiss you though. Kissing is, after all, what a boy and a girl are supposed to do at the end of a date. Only, it's usually the boy who is supposed to kiss the girl; not the other way around. So, maybe we should do it properly?"

Harry's mind blanked out for a long minute as it attempted to follow Luna's logic before he collected himself enough to ask, "You wanted to kiss me? And did you just ask me to kiss you?"

"Yes and yes," Luna replied with a soft giggle.

"But… but, I'm not your boyfriend… and kissing is supposed to be between couples."

"But we did have a date tonight; don't you want to kiss me?"

Harry opened his mouth to say no, only to stop and shut his mouth a moment later as he realized that giving a negative answer would only hurt Luna's feelings. He wasn't really certain he wanted to give her a positive answer either though, because he didn't know if he wanted to kiss her or not. After a brief inner struggle, Harry answered, "I've never kissed anyone before."

"I'd never kissed a boy until tonight either but that wasn't what I asked you. It must be a heavy wrackspurt infection befuddling your thoughts; lean closer for a moment and I'll shoo them away."

Harry automatically complied with the strange request and soon felt Luna's breath gently rushing across his right ear in a steady stream with a small tingle of magic entwined with the warm air she was exhaling. Harry shivered at the sudden sensation of air and magic caressing his ear; goose bumps rising in a wave down his right arm as a result. He was still caught up in the sensation when Luna shifted to repeat the process with his other ear. A brief moment of clarity hit Harry in that instant and as Luna pulled back, he leaned forward to kiss her.

Clarity vanished the instant their lips connected as a soft jolt hit both teens when the still active thread of Luna's magic clashed with Harry's Namelessness. Harry held the kiss for several seconds despite the jolt before he slowly pulled back as his uncertainties came rushing back. He really had no idea why he'd kissed Luna or what he'd been thinking at the time; since he'd had no real plans of kissing Luna at all. Luna was undeniably pleased that he had kissed her though.

"Thank you for the wonderful evening, Harry," Luna breathed before she kissed his cheek and darted towards the entrance to her common room.

Harry was left standing there still feeling rather confused as the Namelessness watched her vanish through the open passageway a minute later. He wouldn't start moving back in the direction of the guest suites until Mr. Lupin gently pulled him away once it became clear that Harry wasn't going to move on his own. Harry would remain lost in his thoughts the entire way back to their rooms; the confused teen withdrawing into himself in response to his confusion. He barely acknowledged his waiting guardian before he slunk off to his assigned room to get ready for bed.

His dreams that night would be a confused jumble of nonsense that he would forget the moment he woke up the next morning.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> _Ah, got to love Luna's logic and looniness. And it was a surprisingly fluffy chapter. The next chapter will cover the fallout from 'the kiss'; I just don't know when I'll have it up since this is the last complete chapter that I have written for this story. The next chapter is two-thirds of the way written though and I expect the final third to be wrapped up before the end of the year. ~ Jenn_


	21. Boxing-Day Blues

**Disclaimer:** _Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction._

**Warnings:** _Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story). _

**AN:** _This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Twenty: Boxing-Day Blues<span>

_Monday, December 26, 1994 1:15 A.M.  
>Hogwarts Castle, Scotland<em>

Mycroft scowled as he watched his ward's back disappear into his bedroom. It had been years since he'd last seen the child so shaken and withdrawn and he was not pleased with the obvious regression. Once the fourteen year old had closed the door, he turned to face the one man who could provide answers as to what had driven his ward in on himself.

"What happened, Mr. Lupin; and why, pray tell, did you allow it to happen?"

"Nothing happened," Mr. Lupin insisted with a slight frown. "After the champions had been dismissed for the evening, I escorted Harry and Miss Lovegood to Ravenclaw and then brought Harry straight back here after he'd said goodnight to Miss Lovegood."

"Wrong, something you interpreted as insignificant happened at some point after the three of you left the Great Hall and prior to your return to our guest suite," Sherlock interjected with a trace of annoyance coloring his voice; his tone alone telling Mycroft that his little brother was more than a little displeased with the situation. "Start at the beginning and tell us everything that happened; leave nothing out, no matter how insignificant a detail you think it to be."

"There isn't much to tell, Miss Lovegood led the way up to Ravenclaw Tower as the two of them chatted about the robes that had been worn by the other guests, compared notes on who danced with whom, and commented on the little dramas that had broken out over the course of the evening. It took us approximately twenty minutes to reach Ravenclaw Tower, the two teens then kissed goodnight, and we re…"

"Stop!" Mycroft ordered crisply as he held up his hand to interrupt the werewolf. "Correct me if I'm wrong but I could have sworn that I just heard you say that my ward kissed Miss Lovegood goodnight."

"Yes, that is correct."

"Mr. Lupin, my ward does not do physical affection. He does not hold hands unless it serves a purpose or decorum dictates the need, he does not seek or offer hugs, and he most certainly does not kiss girls that he barely knows. So, either you are over simplifying exactly what happened to lead my ward to offer up an unheard of measure of physical intimacy or you were not watching my ward as closely as you were supposed to."

"It might help if you tell us exactly what happened once the three of you reached Ravenclaw Tower," Dr. Watson suggested with an undercurrent of steel beneath the patient tone he'd adopted; the man's military background once again shining through his gentle façade.

Mycroft's eyes flicked over to Mr. Black as the man shifted uncomfortably on his chair; the animagus obviously wished to jump in on behalf of his friend. Amazingly enough, the man held his tongue; though that was hardly unsurprising to Mycroft. After all, Mycroft had something the man wanted; his godson. And Mycroft was not above using the man's desire to be part of his godson's life to keep him in line so that the man didn't shoot himself in the foot again and wind up back in prison. Satisfied that Mr. Black would behave, Mycroft returned his attention to Mr. Lupin as the werewolf wiped his face of all emotion and began giving a more detailed report.

"Upon arriving at the entrance to Miss Lovegood's common room, I held back to allow Mr. Potter and Miss Lovegood a small measure of privacy to say their goodnights while staying well within hearing distance. I kept a discreet eye on the two teens without making it obvious that I was watching them while monitoring the immediate area for any threats. Mr. Potter thanked Miss Lovegood for being his date and Miss Lovegood thanked Mr. Potter in turn for asking her to be his date before she gave him a chaste kiss on the lips."

"After a brief discussion regarding the kiss, Mr. Potter gave Miss Lovegood a chaste kiss in return. Miss Lovegood then said goodnight, kissed Mr. Potter on the cheek, and entered her common room while Mr. Potter appeared dazed; much like any other boy who'd just received his first kiss. I guided Mr. Potter back here when it became apparent that his head was lost in the clouds," Mr. Lupin finished. "I took note of his silence but thought nothing of it since there have been numerous times when he's barely said two words in my presence."

"There's still something we're missing," Sherlock muttered with a scowl.

"Wouldn't it be easier to determine exactly what happened if we were to view Moony's memory of that moment?" Mr. Black finally asked.

"It would; if non-magicals could actually use a pensieve, Mr. Black," Mycroft reminded the wizard.*

"Oh, right; I forgot about that."

"You said they spoke about the first kiss they shared, what exactly did they say during that conversation?" Sherlock demanded as he focused his gaze on the werewolf.

"Right after Miss Lovegood kissed him, Harry asked her why she'd kissed him and she replied that she had wanted to thank him for the evening. Harry basically told her that she didn't have to kiss him to do that and she told him that she'd wanted to. She also went on to explain that kissing is supposed to happen at the end of a date before telling Harry that they'd done it wrong because she'd kissed him instead of the other way around. Miss Lovegood then suggested that they should do it properly; meaning that Harry should kiss her."

"Harry seemed very confused by her answer and he asked for clarification, which he promptly received. He then tried to deflect by saying they weren't an actual couple and Miss Lovegood's rebuttal was to ask Harry if he wanted to kiss her. I expected Harry to say no but instead he stated that he had never kissed a girl before. Miss Lovegood admitted that she'd never kissed a boy until she kissed Harry before she said something about one of her imaginary creatures confusing Harry and offered to chase them away."

"I'm not certain exactly what she did as she didn't say anything when Harry leaned closer to her but it looked like she was inspecting his ears or maybe she was kissing the air beside his ears. Immediately after Miss Lovegood did that, Harry kissed her. Miss Lovegood then thanked him again for taking her to the ball and kissed him on the cheek before she entered the Ravenclaw Tower."

"Did she cast a spell…?" Dr. Watson wondered as his frown deepened in confusion.

"No, Miss Lovegood didn't appear to even have her wand with her and both her hands were empty at the time that the kiss took place. In fact, I don't recall seeing her with her wand at any point during the ball."

"You know, Harry is at the age where most boys start to notice girls," Mr. Black carefully pointed out. "It could be that Harry is just confused or conflicted by his attraction to Luna; he has grown quite close to her since he first pulled her out of that closet. And despite his extensive knowledge on the subject of intimacy between two people, he has no personal experiences to draw upon."

"I had already factored his inexperience into the equation, Mr. Black," Mycroft dryly pointed out and he nearly smirked when the man flushed in embarrassment over pointing out the obvious. He then swallowed the sigh that wanted to escape his mouth as he rose to his feet now that there was no point in lingering. "Dr. Watson, I want this fixed in time for the second task; it will not do to have Mr. Potter distracted during a critical moment when his life is going to be on the line, yet again."

Mycroft mentally smirked when Dr. Watson began spluttering indignantly in response to his order; he did so love to tweak the good doctor's nose. Mycroft then signaled to Anthea that it was time to go before he turned to Mr. Lupin and ordered, "Walk us out to the gate, Mr. Lupin."

Throughout the journey through the castle and across the grounds, Mycroft could sense the wizard beside him growing tenser with each step they took. Knowing what he did of Mr. Lupin's background and personality, Mycroft was fairly certain that the werewolf was currently fighting an internal battle over what had happened earlier. He was also ninety-nine percent certain that the man would attempt to resign as a result. Not that Mycroft had any plans to accept said resignation under the circumstances.

Sure enough, the moment they reached the gates, Mr. Lupin cleared his throat and quietly stated, "I'll have my letter of resignation on your desk later this morning, Mr. Homes."

"Don't bother wasting the paper; I will not be accepting your resignation."

"What? Why not?"

"Contrary to what my brother has undoubtedly insinuated at some point, I have not made it a habit to fire employees for making a mistake; for repeatedly making the same mistake, yes, but not for a first offense," Mycroft replied as he turned to affix the werewolf with a stern gaze. "Then there is the fact that you are here to do a job and replacing you at the drop of a hat would be more than a little annoying. On top of that, my brother trusts you and more importantly, my ward trusts you. I expect you to do your job and your job is to protect my ward from magical threats for the duration of his stay at Hogwarts; not to protect his heart and sanity from precocious little girls – that is Dr. Watson's job. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

* * *

><p><em>Monday, December 26, 1994 8:15 A.M.<br>Hogwarts Castle, Scotland_

John reluctantly opened his eyes with a groan as a beam of pale light slipped between the curtains and struck him in the face. He briefly contemplated the merits of rolling over and attempting to go back to sleep right up until he picked up the faint sounds of someone playing the piano. It didn't take a genius to figure out that there was really only one person in the guest suite that would be awake at this time of day and playing the piano. And while it _could_ have been Sherlock or Mycroft, John knew that Mycroft was back in London by now and Sherlock tended to be a little more heavy-handed when he played the piano.

No, John was certain that it was Harry at the piano and based upon the frequent starts and stops, the kid was still feeling out of sorts.

John let out a soft sigh and sat up while mentally cursing the magicals for dragging Harry back to their world. There was only so much stress that a single person (let alone a single child) could handle without having a mental breakdown that would inevitably lead to a physical breakdown. And while John would not lay Harry's current state of mind at Luna's feet, the girl's actions the previous night had certainly not helped. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have had a difficult time coping with the romantic interest of a peer but there was nothing normal about the current circumstances and Harry had been stressed since Halloween night; even if the boy tried to hide it.

Hauling himself out of bed, John ignored the pain and stiffness in his shoulder and headed for the en-suite bathroom attached to his room to take a hot shower. One of the few useful conveniences (of which there were only about three… maybe four in John's mind) of living in the magical castle was instant hot water. Another was the lack of refrigerators for Sherlock to store body parts in. The last convenience that John counted was the fact that the castle held enough mysteries to keep Sherlock occupied for at least a year. Possibly two; if the lack of logic didn't irritate the man first.

The only convenience that John didn't know if he should count or not was the free room service in the form of elf service and that was only because he felt uncomfortable at being waited on hand and foot by a sentient being that had been enslaved after a fashion. Remus had explained the history of house elves and their reliance upon the bond of servitude shortly after they arrived but John still felt there had to be a better way for the magicals to handle the matter.

Shoving the house elf predicament out of his mind for a moment, John focused on how he was going to approach Harry on the matter of one Luna Lovegood. He couldn't just walk up and ask him what was wrong. Well he could, but he usually tried to avoid using Sherlock's insensitive approach when dealing with Harry since the poor kid got more than enough of that kind of thing from Sherlock. John was more of a coaxer when it came to dealing with Harry's problems; he didn't like shoving the kid out of his comfort zone.

_Especially, not right now when he's got plenty of other things to worry about,_ John thought to himself as he rinsed the soap from his body before he turned off the water and reached for a towel as he stepped out of the shower.

By the time he'd dried off and dressed for the day, John had come up with a dozen different ways to approach Harry about the matter only to discard each and every one of them. Part of the problem was that he knew that he didn't yet know all of the pertinent facts. Sure, he had a rough idea of what happened but what he did know wasn't really enough to determine exactly what it was that was bothering Harry. And there were several possibilities.

For example, was Harry upset because Luna had kissed him? Or was he upset because he'd kissed her back for some strange reason? Then again, he could just be hung up on the fact that Luna had apparently wanted to kiss him. Or he could be struggling to understand why he'd felt the need to kiss her. It was also possible that he _had_ wanted to kiss Luna and felt conflicted for both the wanting and the doing.

Mycroft had not been exaggerating when he had said that Harry didn't do physical intimacy; Harry did not like to be touched. He tolerated physical contact when necessary but otherwise he went out of his way to avoid casual touches. The only exception was when Harry experienced a panic attack. The fourteen year old even went so far as to offer polite bows and nods in lieu of handshakes when he was introduced to new people for the most part. At least the teen no longer flinched each time he was touched.

Still, Harry's aversion to physical contact had been cause for concern over the past five years; much as his lack of interest in forming lasting friendships with other children had been a cause for concern.

Both issues stemmed from experiences and observations that had occurred during the eight years he had lived with his relatives. The handful of violent encounters with a number of criminals that Harry had experienced since he'd moved into their flat hadn't exactly helped either. It was actually a miracle that those incidents hadn't caused the teen to further withdraw into himself and John was eighty percent certain the only reason for that was Little Lady's presence.

The physical affection and contact that Harry shied away from when it came to human interactions were openly sought when it came to the kneazle and to Fawkes, when the phoenix occasionally sought him out. In fact, Harry lavished his cat with physical affection every chance he got; petting, scratching, and kissing her without any hesitation.

John sometimes worried over just how close Harry had grown to the kneazle; if only because he feared what Little Lady's death would do to the fourteen year old. The child was so utterly devoted to the cat and the cat equally dedicated to the child that neither one of them would take the loss of the other very well. The kneazle would most likely will itself to die if Harry were to die and the mere possibility that Harry would do the same in the event that Little Lady died scared the soldier to death.

Those two were wound around each other that tightly.

Shaking away his inner reflections the moment he realized he was procrastinating, John marshaled his courage and left his borrowed room to go do damage control. He might have been irritated by Mycroft's earlier order for him to fix things but that was more him being annoyed at Mycroft than it was being irritated over the need to help Harry work through whatever was bothering him. John had no problems with looking after Harry's health; and that included monitoring his mental and emotional wellbeing.

The former soldier stepped out into the common room less than a minute later and he felt no satisfaction in learning that he had accurately deduced the identity of the troubled piano player as his eyes fell on a disheveled Harry seated at the piano while Little Lady lounged on top of the piano. John let out a soft sigh and made his way to the self-refilling tea service and prepared two cups of tea before he carried both cups over to the piano as the teen mangled another cord and promptly banged his forehead on the keys in obvious frustration.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Harry demanded under his breath as John stopped beside the bench.

"Why do you think there is something wrong with you?" John inquired when he heard the half muttered question. The doctor was not prepared for Harry to practically jump out of his skin in response to his question and John winced slightly when the teen crashed down on the piano keys in a loud, discordant jumble of notes; the sound chasing Little Lady off of the piano with a yowl of irritation. "Sorry about that, Harry; I thought you knew I was standing here. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's not your fault; I wasn't paying attention and didn't realize that anyone else was up," Harry replied as his face turned beat red in mortification over being startled.

"Here, I fixed you a cup of tea."

"Thanks," Harry murmured as he accepted the cup and slid over to give John room to sit down.

"So, why do you think there is something wrong with you?" John asked again several minutes later once Harry had drank roughly half of his tea.

"What else am I supposed to think?" Harry countered in frustration as he scowled down into his tea.

"I can't help you answer that if you don't give me any background information to work with."

"I wasn't going to and I don't think I really wanted to but I did anyway and I don't know why."

"And what is it that you did that has you so flustered and confused?" John prompted when Harry didn't clarify his cryptic complaints; not that he really needed to hear the answer to know that Harry was talking about the kiss that Remus had reported the blind teen shared with the blonde witch.

"I kissed Luna. Well, she kissed me first but insisted that we did it wrong because I should have kissed her and I wasn't going to but then I did and it's all confusing. Why would I kiss her?"

"Why do you kiss Little Lady?" John asked instead of answering the question; he knew that Harry was the only one who could answer the question anyway.

"Little Lady is my best friend but kissing her on the nose is not the same as kissing a girl on the lips, Dr. Watson."

"I didn't say it was; I was merely asking you why you shower your furry little friend with affection."

"Because she means the world to me but that implies that I feel the same way about Luna because I kissed her too. That doesn't really make any sense though because I've known Luna for less than two months."

"And what is it that you think you feel for Luna?"

"That's just it; I don't know. She confuses me."

"Okay, let me ask a different question; why did you ask Luna to be your date for the ball?"

"I wanted to go with someone I knew I felt comfortable with because the idea of spending a night with a giggly fan-girl was distasteful."

"So, out of the four girls you've been spending time with lately; what made you choose Luna?"

"She's the one I feel most comfortable around. If she had told me no, I would have asked one of the others."

"And why do you think you feel more comfortable with Luna?"

"I don't know. I like the debates we have on magical theory. I like our discussions on animals and plants. And I like that she doesn't make a big deal out of the fact that I am blind."

"Do you look forward to spending time with her each day?" John carefully inquired as he began to suspect that it wasn't just the kiss that was bothering Harry.

"Yes," Harry replied with a slight scowl as he curled further in on himself and John knew the teen wasn't happy with that admission.

"That bothers you; why?"

"I didn't want to like anyone here. I don't want to be here. I just want to go home. I'm tired of magic. And I don't want to be dragged back here again once this stupid tournament is over."

"Tell me, how is enjoying Luna's company any different than enjoying Sirius's or Remus's company? I know you like listening to both men talk about your parents. They are also both wizards."

"They also both live and work in the non-magical world," Harry pointed out with a frown. "I also know that they won't try to turn me into a wizard."

"And you are afraid that Luna will?"

"She lives in this world. Her father lives and works in this world."

"Are you sure it is Luna's magical heritage that is bothering you, Harry? Or is it that fact that you are afraid that you will miss her when we leave? Is it really such a bad thing that you've made a friend?"

Harry flinched in response to his insightful questions and John knew he'd stumbled on the heart of the matter. A soft sigh escaped the doctor as he rescued Harry's unfinished tea and set it on top of the piano where it wouldn't get spilled while he waited for Harry to tell him exactly what it was that was bothering him. Little Lady climbed up onto Harry's lap at that point and mewed softly as she butted her head against Harry's stomach; the kneazle seeking to comfort her boy.

After several minutes, Harry quietly gave voice to his insecurities, "I never wanted friends. I never wanted to let another get close enough to me to hurt me."

"Do you honestly believe that Luna would ever seek to purposefully hurt you?"

"No," Harry replied in a voice so low that if John hadn't been listening for it, he wouldn't have heard his reply.

"Then I don't think you have anything to worry about. It is not uncommon for boys your age to be confused about girls and Luna is, above all else, a girl. I know it is probably the last thing you want to hear but you do have another four of five months to figure out where Luna fits into your life. I'd also suggest that you keep an open mind and discuss your feelings with the young lady in question and listen to her feelings in return. In the mean time, you have a tournament and your studies that need your full attention."

Harry let out a soft sigh and nodded his acceptance of John's suggestions before he climbed to his feet and made his way to his room. John watched him go and hoped that their brief talked had helped the young man find his equilibrium. He also made plans to send Harry outside with godfather later so that he could unwind. The kid had been cooped up inside of the dreary castle for far too long and a bit of fresh air would do him good.

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

* Pensieves and non-magicals – I know most FanFictions allow for muggles and squibs to view memories through pensieves, either on their own or with a magical to take them inside but there is actually no basis in canon for them to be able to do such. And so, in order to not make things too easy, I decided not to use that fanon ability in this story. Much like muggles can't actually see dementors, they will not be able to view memories.

To that end, Harry will also not be able to view a memory through the Nothingness because I'm going with the notion that it is magic that generates the memory when a wizard pulls it free from his mind; meaning that the memory would be like a photograph to Harry with nothing for his Nothingness to actually wrap itself around (seeing as how I've established that Harry's magic is different than normal magic in this story).

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> _I had originally hoped to include a scene to explore Luna's thoughts on the kiss she coaxed (tricked) out of Harry but I just couldn't get that part to flow right and after fiddling with it for a months, I decided just to cut it out entirely. Unfortunately, that leaves this chapter a bit on the small side but no matter which angle I tried to use to write Luna's part, she refused to cooperate. So, rather than hanging onto this chapter for another week or two and trying to force a scene that just didn't want to be written, I decided to cut it off after Dr. Watson's talk with Harry and post it as is. _

_The next chapter will show the second task. I don't know when I will have it ready for posting, since as of right now it is completely unwritten, but I will try not to make you wait for it too long. On the plus side, I do have the entire task mostly mapped out as far was what I intend to have happen. I just have to write it. I'll be answering reviews for this chapter tomorrow when I come back to post my next update, so if you have a burning question that hasn't yet been answered, feel free to repost it and I will make it a point to answer it tomorrow or at least explain why I won't answer it. ~ Jenn_


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